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"Cotta  Family"  Books. 


The  Series  to  which  this  voltnne  belongs 
at  present  embraces  the  FOUR  folloiving 
works ^  viz, : — 

THE  SOHONBEEG-OOTTA  FAMILY. 

THE  EAELY  DAWN  ;   or,   Sketches   of  Christian 
Life  in  England  in  the  Olden  Time. 

KITTY  TREVYLYAN :  A  Story  of  the  Times  of 
-  Whitefield  and  the  Wesleys. 

WINIFEED  BEETEAM :  And  the  World  she  Lived 
in. 

The  Author  of  these  hooks,  wliich  are  unexcelled  in 
popularity  hy  any  puhlications  which  have  lately  n])- 
peared,  is  engaged  upon  another  work  of  great  his- 
torical interest,  w^hich  we  shall  add  to  the  above  series 
before  the  close  of  the  year. 


We  puhlisJi  the  above  in  four  different  editians : 

TJie  Fine  Edition,  tinted  paper  and  illustrated,  demi  8r(? 
T?ie  regular  Standard  Edition^  12mo. 

The  Cabinet  Edition,  on  tinted  paper,  16m<>. 
The  Sabbath  School  Edition,  18mo. 


By  the  same  Author, 
MABY   THE    HANDMAID   OF   THE   LORD. 
THE   BONO   VTITHOUT   WORDS  :    Leaves  from  a 
very  Old  Book.     Dedicated  to  Children, 


Diary 


OP 


Kitty  Trevylyan. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  TIMES 

OF 

WHITEFIELD  AND  THE  WESLEYS. 


BY    THE    AUTHOR    OF 


"THE    SCHONBERG-COTTA    FAMILV,'' 
"THE    EARLY    DAWN,"    &c. 


NEW  YORK: 

M.    W.    DODD,    506    BROADWAY, 

I  869. 


''The  Author  of  the  ' Schonberg-Cotta  Family' 
wishes  it  to  be  generally  known  among  the  readers 
of  her  books  in  America,  that  the  American  Edi- 
tions issued  by  Mr.  M.  W.  Dodd,  of  New  York, 
alone  have  the  Author's  sanction." 


ittt¥0i»fti0«* 


^F  late  yea^s,  novels  have  been  written  witli  a 
purpose.  Men  of  commanding  intellect  have 
employed  the  power  of  fiction  to  satirize  the  fol- 
lies of  fashionable  life,  to  expose  social  evils,  to  i^lead 
the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  to  denounce  priestly  domi- 
nation and  tyranny.  The  works  of  the  author  of  "  The 
Chronicles  of  the  Schonberg  Cotta  Family  "  can  not, 
with  propriety,  be  called  novels.  The  thin  veil  of  fic- 
tion, lifted  up,  reveals  soft,  sweet  landscapes  of  truth, 
long  hidden  in  the  mists  and  shadows  of  the  i)ast.  A 
careful  study  of  the  history  of  the  great  periods  of 
reformation  in  Germany,  Switzerland,  Holland,  Spain 
and  England,  has  enabled  this  gifted  writer  to  give 
the  form  and  pressure  of  the  time,  to  throw  ui^on  her 
canvas  the  heroic  figures  that  made  those  days  illus- 
trious. The  use  of  her  rich  materials  is  artistic.  From 
the  quiet  home  life  of  the  family  she  enables  us  to  look 
out  on  the  historic  religious  movements  that  mould 
and  fashion  the  forms  of  national  existence.  Her  great 
work  depicts  the  life  and  times  of  Luther,  and  second 
to  this  in  interest,  is  "  Mrs.  Kitty  Trevylyan's  Diai-y," 
giving  glimpses  of  the  Wesleys  and  their  work. 

Kitty's  home,  in  Cornwall,  is  painted  with  the  fidel- 
ity of  a  Flemish  picture.     The  good  mother,  with 
her  calm  brow  and  saintly  face,  her  quiet  readings  of 
1* 

416695 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  Bishop  Taylor,  the  "aro- 
matic odor  of  her  sanctity," — the  selfish  and  reckless 
brother — Betty,  hard-working  and  faithful,  with  her 
j)lain  speech  and  her  stormy  temper — the  dog  Trusty, 
with  his  wistful  eyes  and  his  intelligent  sympathy 
with  the  family  joys  and  sorrows — and  Kitty-s  morn- 
ing walk  along  the  cliffs,  at  whose  base  dash  the 
ceaseless  waves,  with  their  "  old  familiar  thunder  " — 
all  these  are  skilfully  brought  out. 

Kitty's  visit  to  London  affords  glimjDses  of  the 
heartless  frivolity  of  the  day — of  the  fine  lady  at  her 
toilette,  with  her  white  poodle,  black  page  and  chat- 
tering parrot — of  gentlemen  in  laced  coats  and  flaxen 
wigs.  One  gets  an  idea  of  the  dreariness  of  the  time 
in  church  and  state.  No  heroic  ideas  or  noble  deeds. 
Profligacy  and  infidelity  among  the  higher  classes, 
ignorance  and  vice  among  the  lower — a  tide  of  ini- 
quity sweeping  over  the  land,  unstayed  "by  the  frail 
break-waters  built  by  the  moral  writers  of  the  day. 
"  Religion,"  said  good  Dr.  Watts,  *'  is  dying  in  the 
world."  And  the  clergy,  destitute  of  power  and 
influence,  pronounced  feeble  moral  essays,  and  gave 
to  the  people  "  good  words  made  a  long  time  ago, 
about  good  things  a  long  way  off,  to  be  given  after  a 
long  w^hile,  to  they  didn't  exactly  know  whom." 

It  was  a  dull,  sleepy  time,  but  voices  were  soon 
heard  crying  in  this  moral  wilderness,  and  their  loud 
call  penetrated  the  heavy  car  and  the  drowsy  con- 
science. People  were  aroused  from  their  sleep  of 
death.  The  warm  life-current  began  once  more  to 
flow  through  the  arteries  of  the  social  system.  Men 
began  to  feel  the  burden  of  sin,  and  their  need  of  a 
Saviour.  Socrates  and  Plato  were  put  aside  for  the 
livmg  Saviour  ready  to  heal  and  to  bless.    The  un- 


mTRODTJCTIOK.  Vli 

washed,  untaught  masses  awoke  as  to  a  new  life. 
The  underlying  strata  of  humanity  cropped  out  on 
the  surface.  Thousands  of  grim  miners  from  dark 
mines,  of  fishermen  from  long  lines  of  sea-coast  came 
to  hear  the  wondrous  story,  the  glad  announcement 
that  lifted  them  from  their  low  estate,  and  made  them 
kings  and  priests  unto  God.  A  wonderful  congrega- 
tion was  gathered  in  the  amphitheatre  excavated  by 
ancient  miners  at  Gwennap.  Rugged  countenances 
they  showed,  on  which  dark  stories  were  written, 
wild,  eager  eyes  and  dishevelled  hair — while  the 
"  close,  silent  attention,  with  gravity  and  quietness," 
was  at  times  broken  by  convulsive  weeping  and  the 
*'loud  spontaneous  amen."  "  One  of  the  most  magni- 
ficent spectacles,"  said  John  Wesley,  "  to  be  seen  this 
side  of  heaven,  and  no  music  to  be  heard  on  earth 
comparable  to  the  sound  of  many  thousand  voices  all 
harmoniously  joined  in  singing  praises  to  God  and 
the  Lamb." 

The  preacher  is  described  as  "  a  little,  compact 
man,  in  blameless  clerical  black,  witli  silver  buckles 
on  his  shoes," — "  an  angelic  face,  with  a  calm,  lofty 
expression,"  '*  fine,  sharply  cut  features,"  "  eyes  not 
appealing,  but  commanding,  and  the  delicate  mouth 
firm  as  a  Roman  general's." 

Such  was  the  outward  appearance  of  the  man,  who, 
perhaps,  next  to  St.  Paul  and  Luther,  has  exercised 
the  most  powerful  influence  for  good  upon  humanity. 

The  power  of  Whitefield's  eloquence  is  well  des- 
cribed, prostrating  the  sinner,  utterly  destitute,  at  the 
feet  of  the  Saviour,  while  "Wesley's  noble  words 
seemed  like  God's  gracious  hands  once  more  invest- 
ing him  with  his  forfeited  possessions — no  more  as 
earthly  dross,  but  as  priceless  heaver.ly  treasure." 


VUl  INTRODUCTION, 

Tliere  is  a  very  fine  specimen  of  word-painting  in 
the  description  of  the  solemn  coming  up  of  the  early 
dawn, — "the  welling  up  of  the  light  from  hidden 
fountains," — the  misty  clouds  becoming  *' defined 
purple  bars," — "  the  moon  paling  from  a  pearly  lamp 
illuminating  the  dark  to  a  silver  crescent  floating  on 
a  silvery  sea,  and  sinking  with  her  stars  into  the  flood 
of  sunlight," — "  the  soft  twittering  of  the  waking 
birds — the  murmurs  of  the  far-off  waves,  and  the 
sweeping  of  the  winds  over  the  long  ranges  of  the 
dewy  moors."  John  Nelson,  the  stalwart  Yorkshire- 
man,  addressed  the  men,  women  and  children  assem- 
bled in  the  silent  solemnity  of  this  early  morning 
hour  to  listen  to  his  plain,  pointed  words  and  rugged 
eloquence.  Then  arose  from  lips  newly  touched  with 
sacred  fire,  the.  simple  melody  of  one  of  Wesley's 
noble  hymns. 

There  was  a  wonderful  power  in  these  hymns,  well 
brought  out  in  the  touching  words  of  Toby  Treffry, 
the  Cornish  fisherman. 

"  It  was  mostly  the  hymns,"  said  Toby,  "  first  the 
Bible,  and  then  mostly  the  hymns,  for  they  are  the 
Bible  for  the  most  part,  only  set  to  music  like,  so  tliat 
it  rings  in  your  heart  like  a  tune.  It  was  the  hymns, 
and  what  they  said  at  the  class-meetings.  Before  I 
went  to  class,  and  heard  what  they  had  to  say  there, 
I  thought  I  was  all  alone,  like  a  cast-away,  on  a  sandy 
shore  under  a  great  sheer  wall  of  cliffs — a  narrow 
.  strip  of  sand  which  no  mortal  man  had  ever  trod 
before,  and  which  the  tide  was  fast  sweeping  over  bit 
by  bit.  To  spell  out  the  hymns  in  the  book  by  my- 
self was  like  findii^g  foot-prints  on  the  sand,  and  that 
was  something.  But  when  I  went  to  the  class,  and 
heard  them  sing  the  hymns,  it  was  lil:c  hearing  voices 


INTRODUCTIOir.  IX 

on  the  top  of  the  cliffs  cheering  me  up  and  pointing 
out  the  way." 

The  triumphs  and  trials  attending  the  introduction 
of  Methodism  into  Ireland  are  not  without  their 
record.  The  fiery  ordeal  through  which  the  heroic 
spirits  of  Methodism  passed  in  their  exposure  to 
angry  mobs  is  forcibly  delineated, — "  the  sore  trial  to 
faith  and  love  to  find  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men, 
and  even  of  women,  no  one  of  them,  perhaps,  alone 
would  refuse  you  help  and  shelter,  transformed  into 
a  dreadful  merciless  monster,  with  the  brain  of  a  man, 
the  heart  of  a  wild  beast,  and  the  strength  of  the  sea 
in  a  storm."  "  It  was  not,"  writes  Hugh  Spencer, 
Kitty's  betrothed  lover,  "  until  I  had  spent  more  than 
one  night  in  prayer,  it  was  not  until  I  recollected 
another  mob  which  accomplished  its  purpose,  until  once 
more  above  such  a  sea  of  cruel,  mocking,  inhuman, 
human  faces,  I  had  seen  by  faith  One  sublime,  suffer- 
ing, human  Face  uplifted,  divine  in  unruffled  love  and 
pity — it  was  not  till  then  that  I  could  take  heart,  and 
hope  to  go  forth  once  more  with  the  message  of  par- 
don and  grace." 

Whitefield's  labors  in  America  are  described,  and 
all  these  historical  details  are  so  woven  in  the  web  of 
the  story,  that  their  introduction  in  no  way  seems 
unnatural  or  forced. 

The  great  truth  that  Methodism  made  living  in  the 
experience  of  hundreds  of  thousands,  the  possibility 
of  obtaining,  in  the  beautiful  words  of  the  collect  of 
the  church  of  England,  "  pardon  and  peace ;  that 
they  may  be  cleansed  from  all  their  sins  and  serve  Him 
with  a  quiet  mind  " — this  truth  is  shown  in  the  power 
it  exerted,  not  only  over  the  ignorant  and  degraded, 
but  over  the  consciences  of  the  "  elect  ladies,"  the 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

"honorable  women,"  who  dedicated  to  noble  uses 
their  lives,  and  all  their  gifts  of  wealth  and  position. 
The  character  of  Evelyn  Beauchamp  is  finely  drawn, 
and  "  the  subject  (or  object)"  in  which  she  and  Hugh 
Spencer  were  mutually  interested  will  not  so  long 
remain  a  mystery  to  the  yt)utliful  readers  of  this 
Diary  as  it  did  to  the  writer. 

Mrs.  Kitty  is  "  a  winsome  wee-thing,"  who;^e  grave 
simplicity,  winning  artlessness,  perfect  truth,  and 
deep  piety  give  her  an  irresistible  charm.  The  real 
diary  of  a  French  girl,  Eugenie  de  Guerin,  recently 
published,  exhibits  all  these  characteristics  in  a  very 
remarkable  degree.  She,  too,  loved  the  early  fresh- 
ness of  the  morning,  the  bird's  song,  the  daily  com- 
munion with  nature  and  with  nature's  God.  She, 
too,  found  amjole  exercise  for  loving  charities  in  her 
own  household,  and  among  the  neighboring  j)oor, 
and  hapj)iness  in  an  liumble,  holy  life  of  prayer  and 
praise. 

Mrs.  Kitty  Trevylyan  will  be  a  welcome  guest  in 
every  Christian  home,  but  especially  do  we  bespeak 
for  her  an  entrance  into  every  Methodist  family  in 
the  land,  that  she  may  tell  the  young  people,  in  her 
own  quaint  way,  the  story  so  dear  to  their  fathers, 
that  she  may  prepare  them  to  unite  in  a  joyful  and 
intelligent  celebration  of  the  aj)proaching  centenary  ' 
of  American  Methodism,  with  grateful  oflfeiings  and 
choral  hymns  of  thanksgiving. 

Mrs.  Julia  M.  Olin. 

New  Yoek,  Fchnianj  l-Uli,  1SG5. 


I. 


"Wednesday,  May  the  First,  1745. 

XinX  OTHER  always  said  that  on  the  day  I  became 
fl  S^  I  sixteen  she  would  give  me  a  book  of  my  own, 
^^  in  which  to  keep  a  Diary.  I  have  wished  for 
it  ever  since  I  was  ten,  because  Mother  h<>rself  always 
keeps  a  Diary ;  and  when  anything  went  wrong  in  the 
house, — ^when  Jack  was  provoking,  or  Father  was  pas- 
sionate with  him,  or  when  our  maid  Betty  was  more 
than  usually  wilful,  or  our  man  Roger  was  more  than 
usually  stupid, — she  would  retire  to  her  own  little 
light  closet  over  the  porch,  and  come  out  again  with 
a  serenity  on  her  face  which  seemed  to  spread  over 
the  house  like  fine  weather. 

And  in  that  little  closet  there  is  no  furniture  but 
the  old  rocking-chair  in  which  Mother  used  to  rock 
us  children  to  sleep,  and  a  table  covered  with  a  white 
cloth,  with  four  books  on  it, — the  Bible,  Bishop  Tay- 
lor's *'  Holy  Living  and  Dying,"  Thomas  a  Kempis  on 
the  "  Imitation  of  Christ,"  and  the  Diary. 

The  three  printed  books  I  was  allowed  to  read,  but 
(except  the  Bible)  they  used  in  my  childish  days  to 
seem  to  me  very  gloomy  and  grave,  and  not  at  all 
such  as  to  account  for  that  infectious  peacefulness  in 
Mother's  face  and  voice. 

I  concluded,  therefore,  that  the  magic  must  lie  in 
the  Diary,  which  we  were  never  permitted  to  open, 


12    '  ,27/^  DIAlkX  OF 

iiltkough'I  Ii^ad  6ften*felt  sorely  tempted  to  do  so, 
especially  since  one  morning  when  it  lay  open  by 
accident,  and  I  saw  Jack's  name  and  Father's  on  the 
page.  For  there  were  blots  there,  such  as  used  to 
deface  my  copy-book,  on  those  sorrowful  days  when 
the  lessons  appeared  partcularly  hard,  when  all  the 
world,  singing  birds,  and  bees,  and  breezes,  and  even 
my  own  fingers,  seemed  against  me,  and  I  could  not 
help  crying  with  vexation, — those  blots  which 
Mother  used  to  call  "  Fairy  Faineante's  footsteps  " 
(for  Mother's  grandmother  was  a  Huguenot  French 
Lady,  driven  from  France  by  the  cruel  revocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nantes, — and  Mother  taught  us  French.) 

It  made  me  wonder  if  Mother  too  had  her  hard 
lessons  to  learn,  and  I  longed  to  peep  and  see.  Yes, 
there  were  certainly  tears  on  Mother's  Diary.  I  won- 
der if  there  will  be  any  on  mine. 

So  white  and  clean  the  pages  are  now,  and  the  calf- 
skin binding  so  bright  and  new  !  like  life  before  me, 
like  the  bright  world  which  looks  so  new  around  me. 

How  difficult  it  is  to  believe  the  world  is  so  old, 
and  has  lasted  so  long  1  This  morning  when  I  went 
up  over  the  cliff  behind  our  house  to  the  little  croft 
in  the  hollow  where  the  cows  are  pastured,  to  milk 
Daisy  for  Mother's  morning  cup  of  new  milk,  and  the 
little  meadow  lay  blue  in  the  early  dew  before  me,  and 
each  delicate  blade  of  grass  was  glittering  around  me, 
and  far  beneath,  the  waves  murmured  on  the  sands 
like  some  happy  mother-creature  making  soft  con 
tented  cooings  and  purrings  over  its  young ;  and  fax 
away  in  the  offing,  beyond  the  long  shadow  of  the 
cliffs,  the  just  risen  sun  was  kissing  the  little  waves 
awake  one  by  one, — it  seemed  as  if  the  sun,  and 
the  sea,  and  the  green  earth,  and  I  were  all  young 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN'.  18 

togetlier,  and  God  like  a  father  was  smiling  on  us 
all. 

And  is  it  not  true  in  some  sense  ?  Is  not  every  sun 
rise  like  a  fresh  creation  ?  and  every  morning  like  the 
birth  of  a  new  life  ?  and  every  night  like  a  liiddc  n 
fountain  of  youth,  in  which  all  the  creatures  bathe  in 
silence  and  come  forth  again  new-bom  ? 

It  often  seems  so  to  me. 

I  am  so  glad  Mother  lets  me  help  Betty  about  the 
milking.  At  first  she  thought  it  was  hardly  fit  work 
for  Father's  daughter  (he  being  of  an  ancient  and 
honorable  family),  but  I  like  it  so  much  better  than 
any  work  indoors,  that  since  there  are  only  Betty  and 
Roger,  and  we  must  help  in  some  way,  she  was  per- 
suaded to  let  me  do  what  I  enjoy.  Mother  always 
says,  since  Father  chose  poverty  with  her  rather 
than  riches  and  honors  with  his  great  relations,  we 
must  all  do  all  we  can  to  make  it  easy  to  him.  Mothei 
thinks  it  was  such  a  great  sacrifice  for  him  to  marry 
her,  a  poor  chaplain's  daughter.  But  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  think  it  a  sacrifice  for  any  one  to  have  mar- 
ried Mother. 

It  was  delicious  to  sit  milking  Daisy  and  thinking 
of  these  things,  and  of  how  Mother  would  welcome 
me  with  my  cup  of  new  milk  on  this  my  birthday 
morning,  while  every  now  and  then  Daisy,  the  friendly 
creature,  looked  round  and  thanked  me  with  her  great 
kind  motherly  eyes,  or  rubbed  her  rough  tongue  on 
my  dress.  There  is  something  that  goes  so  to  my 
heart  in  the  dumb  gratitude  of  animals. 

However,  as  I  was  walking  home  with  my  milk- 
pails,  smging,  I  met  Toby  Teffry,  riding  his  widowed 
mother's  donkey,  beating  the  poor  beast  with  a  huge 
2 


14  THE  DIARY  OF 

stick, — ^blows  whicli  resounded  as  if  from  xTic  trunk 
of  a  tree, — and  shouting  at  it  in  those  inhuman  kind 
of  savage  gutturals  which  seem  to  be  received  as  the 
only  speech  comprehensible  to  donkeys. 

It  stopped  my  singing  at  once,  and  I  chid  Toby  se- 
verely for  his  cruelty  to  the  creature,  and  it  so  thin 
and  starved. 

*'  It  has  had  a  better  breakfast  than  I  am  like  to  get, 
Mistress,"  retorted  Toby  surlily ;  "  and  if  I  was  as 
lazy  as  the  brute,  surely  master  would  whack  me 
harder.  And  there's  mother  at  home  without  a  crust 
till  I  come  back." 

Toby  is  a  lank,  lean-looking  lad,  and  I  chid  myself 
for  not  remembering  how  his  temper  might  be  tried 
by  povei-ty,  and  thought  I  could  do  no  less  to  make 
up  for  my  hard  words  to  him  than  offer  him  a  drink 
of  milk  and  a  crust  I  had  in  my  pocket,  and  gently 
commend  the  beast  to  his  tender  mercies. 

Methought  the  lad  was  hardly  as  thankful  as  he 
might  have  been  ;  indeed,  I  am  not  sure  he  did  not 
regard  the  gift  as  a  kind  of  w^ak  attempt  at  bribery. 
And  so  he  went  on  his  way  and  I  on  mine.  But  the 
current  of  my  thoughts  was  quite  changed,  and  every- 
thing around  seemed  changed  with  them. 

Beneath  me,  on  the  white  sands  in  the  cove,  lay  ino 
wreck  of  the  fishing-smack  that  was  lost  there  last 
winter.  Those  sunny  waves  now  fa^\Tiing  so  softly 
on  the  shore  had  not  yet  washed  away  the  traces  of 
their  own  fierce  work  of  destruction. 

The  thought  of  Toby's  donkey  brought  before  me 
all  the  mute  unavenged  sufferings  of  the  harmless 
beasts  at  the  hand  of  man.  The  thought  of  Toby's 
widowed  mother  lying  blind  and  lonely,  waiting  for 
a  crust  of  brrnd,  led  me  down  a  step  deeper  into  the 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAX.  15 

sorrows  of  earth, — to  want,  and  pain,  .and  death. 
And  the  thought  of  Toby  himself  avenging  his  sor- 
rows on  the  poor  helpless  beast  led  me  to  the  lowest 
depth  of  all ;  for  if  the  end  of  all  this  want,  and 
pain,  and  sorrow,  was  to  harden  instead  of  soften,  to 
make  worse  instead  of  better,  what  a  terrible  chiios 
the  world  and  life  seemed  to  be  ! 

Thus,  instead  of  the  creation  seeming  the  ladder 
of  light  on  which  just  before  my  spirit  had  been  ris- 
ing to  heaven,  from  love  to  joy,  and  joy  to  love,  it 
seemed  to  have  become  a  winding  stair-case  into  the 
abyss,  from  sorrow  to  sin,  and  from  sin  to  sorrow. 

The- matter  was  too  hard  for  me,  but  I  resolved  to 
ask  Mother,  and  at  all  events  to  carry  some  bread  and 
milk  at  once  to  Widow  TrefTry. 

I  therefore  sat  down  my  pails  in  the  dairy,  gave 
them  in  charge  to  Betty,  cut  off  a  large  slice  of  the 
great  barley  loaf,  took  it  with  a  jug  of  milk  to  Widow 
Treffry,  and  was  back  at  the  door  of  Mother's  closet 
with  her  cup  of  new  milk  scarcely  after  the  appointed 
time. 

Yet  Mother  has  been  looking  for  me,  for  when  she 
answered^  she  had  this  beautiful  diaiy  of  mine  all 
ready  beside  her  own. 

She  smiled  at  my  rapture  of  delight.  But  it  is  so 
very  seldom  that  anything  new  appears  in  our  house, 
on  account  of  our  not  being  rich,  that  I  can  never 
help  enjoying  a  new  dress  or  a  new  hood,  or  even 
a  new  ribbon,  as  if  it  made  the  day  on  which  it  came 
a  high  day  and  a  holiday,  just  as  I  used  when  I  was 
a  child ;  although  now,  indeed,  I  am  a  child  no  longer, 
and  ought  to  estimate  things,  as  Parson  Spencer  sayOj 
with  a  gravity  becoming  my  years. 

My  new  treasure  entirely  put  all  the  great  myste 


16  TEE  DIARY  OF 

lies  of  toil  and  sorrows  out  of  my  head,  until  Mother, 
laying  her  hand  fondly  on  my  head  as  I  knelt  beside 
her,  said, — "  Your  cheek  is  like  a  fresh  rose,  Kitty ; 
the  draught  of  morning  air  is  as  good  for  thee  as  the 
new  milk  for  me ;"  and  then  pointing  to  her  old  worn 
Diary,  she  added, — "  Thou  and  thy  book  are  as  suit- 
able to  each  other  as  I  and  mine." 

A  passionate,  fervent  contradiction  was  on  my  lips. 
Our  precious,  beautiful  Mother  !  as  young  in  heart  as 
ever.  But  while  I  looked  up  in  her  dear  thin  face  I 
could  not  speak ;  the  words  were  choked  in  my  throat, 
and  I  could  only  look  down  again  and  lay  my  cheek 
on  her  hand. 

"  Do  not  flatter  thyself,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said,  with 
her  little  quiet  laugh,  "  as  if  the  comparison  were  all 
^n  thy  favor.  May  there  not  be  something  in  the 
inside  of  this  poor  worn  old  book  worth  as  much  as 
the  new  gilding  and  white  emptiness  of  thine  ?  Mine 
is  worth  more  to  me  than  when  it  was  clean  and 
bright  as  thine." 

I  thought  of  the  blotted  page  I  had  seen  by  acci 
dent  there,  and  I  said, — 

"  But  what  if  there  should  be  pages  there  stained 
with  tears  ?" 

"  The  pages  blotted  with  tears  are  not  always  the 
darkest  to  look  back  on,"  she  said. 

Then  the  thought  flashed  on  me, — *^  Perhaps  it  may 
be  the  same  with  the  world's  history.  The  tear- 
stained  pages,  nay,  the  blood-stained  pages,  may  net 
be  the  darkest  to  read,  by-and-by ;"  and  I  said  so, 
and  told  Mother  also  about  Toby  and  the  donkey, 
and  Widow  TrefFry. 

She  i^aused  a  moment,  as  if  to  read  my  thought  to 
the  end,  and  then  she  said,  in  a  low  calm  voice,— 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAN.  17 

"  One  page  of  the  world's  history  stained  with  the 
bitterest  tears  ever  shed  on  earth,  and  steeped  in 
guiltless  blood,  is  not  the  darkest  to  read.  Child,  it 
is  in  the  light  of  that  sorrow  and  that  sin  thou  must 
leam  to  understand  all  the  rest.  All  these  hard  and 
bitter  questions  are  answered  there  to  the  lowly  heart, 
and  nowhere  else,  and  to  none  else,  as  far  as  I  have 
seen.  But  each  of  us  must  learn  for  himself,  and 
learn  it  there.  I  cannot  teach  it  thee,  darling,  nor,  I 
think,  can  God  himself  teach  it  thee,  in  one  lesson. 
But  He  is  never  weary  of  teaching,  child ;  only  be 
thou  never  weary  of  learning ;  and  hereafter,  when 
all  the  lessons  are  learned,  and  we  wake  up  in  His 
likeness,  thou  and  I  will  sing  together  the  Hallelujahs 
and  the  Amens  it  took  us  so  long  to  leam,  and  theii 
we  shall  be  satisfied." 

Thursday,  May  the  Second,  1745. 

I  MEANT  to  have  written  a  great  deal  more  last 
night,  but  as  I  recalled  those  words  of  Mother's,  I 
fell  into  a  long  musing,  and  then  I  must  have  fallen 
into  a  long  doze,  for  the  next  thing  I  was  conscious 
of  was  the  hooting  of  the  white  owl  that  has  built  in 
the  ruined  side  of  the  house. 

So  I  never  got  beyond  breakfast  time.  It  is  quite 
plain  that  a  Diary  cannot  be  meant  to  be  a  record  of 
all  that  happens  in  any  one  day,  because  it  would 
take  all  day  to  write  it,  and  then  there  would  be 
nothing  to  write. 

Who  would  think  until  they  l:)egan  to  write,  how 
much  is  always  happening ;  how  many  words  are 
spoken,  and  how  many  things  are  done 'on  every  one 
of  those  days  which  seem  so  like  each  other,  and  are 
over  almost  before  they  seem  properly  begun  ! 
2* 


18  TEE  DIARY  OF 

As  it  passes,  a  day  seems  just  a  moment,  but  wliilc 
wc  try  to  recall  what  it  brought,  a  day  seems  a  life- 
time. 

I  have  heard  old  people  say  all  life  to  look  back  on 
is  just  like  a  summer-day.  And  yet,  when  we  stand 
at  the  judgment  bar  of  God,  and  all  the  days  are 
unrolled  before  us,  will  not  each  day  seem  like  a  life- 
time in  its  early  resolutions  broken,  its  in-evocable 
c  pportunities  lost,  its  sins  unrepented,  its  blessings 
uncounted  ?  It  is  a  discovery  I  have  just  made  in 
my  precious  Diary  which  has  set  me  on  these  grave 
reflections. 

On  the  last  page  I  find  Mother  has  written  with 
her  own  hand  these  passages  from  Bishop  Taylor's 
"  Golden  Grove  "  :-~ 

"AGENDA,  OR  THINGS  TO  BE  DONE. 

"the  diary,   OB  A   RULR  TO  SPEND  EAOH  DAY  RELIGIOUSLY. 

"  1.  Suppose  every  day  to  be  a  day  of  business ; 
for  your  whole  life  is  a  race  and  a  battle,  a  merchan- 
dize and  a  journey.  Every  day  propound  to  yourself 
a  rosary  or  a  chaplet  of  good  works,  to  present  to 
God  at  night. 

"  2.  Rise  as  soon  as  your  health  and  other  occa- 
sions shall  permit ;  but  it  is  good  to  be  as  regular  as 
you  can,  and  as  early.  Remember  he  that  rises  first 
to  prayer  hath  a  more  early  title  to  a  blessing.  But 
he  that  changes  night  into  day,  labor  into  idleness, 
watchfulness  into  sleep,  changes  his  hope  of  blessed- 
ness into  a  dream. 

"  3.  Never  let  any  one  think  it  an  excuse  to  lie  in 
bed,  because  he  hath  nothing  to  do  when  he  is  up  ,• 
for  whoever  hath  a  soul,  and  hopes  to  save  that  soul, 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEYYLYA2T,  19 

haili  enougli  to  do  to  make  Ms  calling  and  election 
sure,  to  serve  God  and  to  pray,  to  read  and  to  medi- 
tate, to  repent  and  to  amend,  to  do  good  to  others 
and  to  keex)  evil  from  themselves.  And  if  thou  hast 
little  to  do,  thou  oughtest  to  employ  the  more  time 
in  laying  up  for  a  greater  crown  of  glory. 

"  4.  At  your  opening  your  eyes  enter  on  the  day 
with  some  act  of  piety — 

"  (1.)  Of  thanksgiving  for  the  preservation  of  the 
night  past. 

"  (2.)  Of  the  glorification  of  God  for  the  works  of 
the  creation,  or  anything  for  the  honor  of  God. 

"  5.  When  you  first  go  off  from  your  bed,  solemnly 
and  devoutly  bow  your  head  and  worship  the  Holy 
Trinity — the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

"  6.  When  you  are  making  ready,  be  as  silent  as 
you  can,  and  spend  that  time  in  holy  thoughts ; 
there  being  no  way  left  to  redeem  that  time  from  loss 
but  by  meditation  and  short  mental  prayers.  If  you 
choose  to  speak,  speak  something  of  God's  praises,  of 
his  goodness,  his  mercies,  or  his  greatness ;  ever  re- 
solvhig  that  the  first  fruits  of  thy  reason  and  of  all 
thy  faculties  shall  be  presented  to  God,  to  sanctify 
the  whole  harvest  of  thy  conversation. 

*'  7.  Be  not  curious  nor  careless  in  your  habit,  but 
always  keep  these  measures  : — 

"  (1.)  Be  not  troublesome  to  thyself  or  to  others  by 
unhandsomeness  or  uncleanness. 

"  (2.)  Let  it  be  according  to  your  state  and  quality. 

"  (3.)  Make  religion  to  be  the  difference  of  your 
habit,  so  as  to  be  best  attired  upon  holy  or  festival  days. 

'*  8.  In  your  dressing,  let  there  be  ejaculations 
fitted  to  the  several  actions  of  dressing  :  as  at  wash- 
ing your  hands  and  face,  pray  God  to  cleanse  your 


»U  THE  DIARY  OF 

soul  from  sin ;  in  putting  on  your  clothes,  pray  hiin 
to  clotlie  your  soul  with  the  righteousness  of  your 
Sa"\dour ;  and  so  in  all  the  rest.  For  religion  must 
not  only  be  the  garment  of  your  soul,  to  invest  it  all 
over ;  but  it  must  also  be  as  the  frmges  to  every  one 
of  your  actions,  that  something  of  religion  appear  in 
every  one  of  them,  besides  the  innocence  of  all  of 
them. 

"9.  As  soon  as  you  are  dressed  with  the  first  pre- 
paration of  your  clothes  that  you  caa  decently  do  it, 
kneel  and  say  the  Lord's  Prayer ;  then  lise  from  your 
knees,  and  do  what  is  necessaiy  for  you,  in  order  to 
your  further  dressing  or  affairs  of  the  house,  which 
is  speedily  to  be  done  ;  and  then  finish  your  dressing 
according  to  the  following  rules. 

"  10.  When  you  are  dressed,  retire  yourself  to  youi 
closet,  and  go  to  your  usual  devotions ;  which  it  is 
good  that  at  the  first  prayers  they  were  divided  into 
seven  actions  of  piety : — 

"  (1.)  An  act  of  adoration. 

"  (2.)  Of  thanksgiving. 

"  (3.)  Of  oblation. 

"  (4.)  Of  confession. 

"  (5.)  Of  petition. 

"  (6.)  Of  intercession. 

"  (7.)  Of  meditation,  or  serious,  deliberate,  useful 
reading  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 

"11.  I  advise  that  your  reading  should  be  governed 
by  these  measures : — 

"  (1.)  Let  it  be  not  of  the  whole  Bible  in  order, 
but  for  your  devotion  use  the  New  Testament,  and 
such  portions  of  the  Old  as  contain  the  precepts  of 
lioly  life. 

"  (2.)  The  historical  and  less  useful  part,  let  it  be 


ME8.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN:  21 

read  at  such  other  times  wliich  you  have  of  leisure 
from  your  domestic  employments. 

"  (3.)  Those  portions  of  Scripture  which  you  use 
in  your  prayers,  let  them  not  be  long ;  a  chapter  at 
once,  and  no  more.  But  then  what  time  you  can  af- 
ford, spend  it  in  thinking  and  meditating  upon  the 
holy  p receipts  which  you  read. 

"  (4.)  Be  sure  to  meditate  so  long,  till  you  make 
some  act  of  piety  u]3on  the  occasion  of  what  you 
meditate  :  either  you  get  some  new  arguments  against 
a  sin,  or  some  new  encouragements  to  virtue ;  some 
sj)iritual  strength  and  advantage,  or  else  some  act  of 
prayer  to  God.  or  glorification  of  Him. 

*'  (5.)  I  advise  that  yoa  would  read  your  chapter 
LQ  the  midst  of  your  j)rayers  in  the  morning,  if  they 
be  divided  according  to  the  number  of  the  fonner 
actions ;  because  little  interrui^tions  mil  be  apt  to 
make  your  prayers  less  tedious,  and  yourself  more 
attent  upon  them,  but  if  you  find  any  other  way 
more  agreeing  with  your  spirit  and  disposition,  use 
your  liberty  without  scruple. 

"  12.  Before  you  go  forth  of  your  closet,  after 
your  prayers  are  done,  set  yourself  doAvn  a  little 
while,  and  consider  what  you  are  to  do  that  day, 
what  matter  of  business  is  like  to  emiDloy  you  or  to 
tempt  you ;  and  take  jDarticular  resolution  against 
that,  whether  it  be  matter  of  wrangling,  or  anger, 
or  covetousness,  or  vain  courtsliij),  or  feasting ;  and 
when  you  enter  upon  it,  remember  upon  what  you 
resolved  in  your  closet.  If  you  are  likely  to  have 
nothing  extraordinary  that  day,  a  general  recommen- 
dation of  the  affairs  of  that  day  to  God  in  your 
prayers  will  be  sufficient ;  but  if  there  be  anything 
foreseen  that  is  not  usual,  be  sure  to  be  armed  for  It 


22  THE  DIARY  01 

by  a  hearty,  though  a  short  prayer,  and  an  earnest, 
prudent  resolution  beforehand,  and  then  watch  v»  hen 
the  thmg  comes. 

****** 

"  22,  Towards  the  declimng  of  the  day,  be  sure  to 
retire  to  your  private  devotions.  Read,  meditate, 
and  pray. 

"  23.  Read  not  much  at  a  time ;  but  meditate  as 
much  as  your  time  and  capacity  and  disposition  will 
give  you  leave  ;  ever  remembering  that  little  reading 
and  much  thinking,  little  speaking  and  much  hear- 
ing, frequent  and  short  prayers  and  great  devotion, 
is  the  best  way  to  be  wise,  to  be  holy,  to  be  devout. 

"  24.  Before  you  go  to  bed,  bethink  yourself  of  the 
day  past.  If  nothhig  extraordinary  hath  ha^jpened, 
your  conscience  is  the  sooner  examined ;  but  if  you 
have  had  a  difference  or  disagreeing  with  any  one,  or 
a  great  feast,  or  a  great  company,  or  a  great  joy,  or  a 
great  sorrow,  then  recollect  yourself  with  the  more 
diligence:  ask  pardon  for  what  is  amiss,  give  God 
thanks  for  what  was  good.  If  you  have  omitted  any 
duty,  make  amends  next  day ;  and  yet  if  nothing  be 
found  that  was  amiss,  be  humble  still  and  thankful, 
and  pray  God  for  pardon  if  anytliing  be  amiss  that 
you  know  not  of.  Remember  also  to  be  sure  to  take 
notice  of  all  the  mercies  and  deliverances  of  yourself 
and  your  relatives  that  day. 

"  25.  As  you  are  going  to  bed,  as  often  as  you  can 
conveniently,  meditate  of  death,  and  the  preparations 
to  your  grave.  When  you  lie  down,  close  yf»ur  eyes 
with  a  short  prayer ;  connnit  yourself  into  the  hands 
of  your  faithful  Creator ;  and  when  you  have  done, 
trust  him  with  yourself,  as  you  must  do  when  you 
are  dying. 


MP.S.   KITTY  TREVYLYAir.  S3 

^'  26.  If  you  awake  in  tlie  night,  fill  aj)  tlie  inter- 
vals or  spaces  of  your  not  sleeping  by  holy  thoughts 
and  aspirations,  and  remember  the  sins  of  your  youth ; 
and  sometimes  remember  your  dead,  and  that  you 
shall  die ;  and  pray  to  God  to  send  to  you  and  all 
mankiud  a  mercy  in  the  day  of  judgment." 

I  have  taken  so  long  reading  these  holy  rules,  and 
thinking  of  them,  and  thinking  of  Mother's  goodness 
in  writiug  them  out  with  her  own  dear  hand,  that  I 
have  no  time  to  write  any  more. 

To-morrow  I  hope  to  begiu  in  good  earnest  to  put 
them  in  practice. 

Only  those  last  I  certainly  cannot  put  in  practice ; 
for  I  never  remember  waking  in  the  night  for  long 
enough  than  just  to  hear  a  gust  of  wind  through  thi 
tall  old  elms,  and  perhaps  a  rook  cawing  a  re^ 
monstrance  at  being  blown  out  of  his  nest,  and  the 
rain  pattering  against  the  window-panes ;  and  then 
to  thank  God  for  my  bed,  and  feel  how  comfortable 
it  is,  and  fall  asleep  again. 

Also  I  have  no  beloved  dead  to  remember.  None. 
My  beloved  are  all  living — Father,  and  Mother,  and 
Rrother  Jack,  and  Hugh  Spencer ;  and  if  I  stayed 
awake  till  cock-crowing,  how  could  I  thank  God 
enough  foi  that  ? 

Friday,  May  the  Third. 

Eakly  as  I  woke  this  morning,  the  birds  were 
awake  before  me.  First  came  the  cawing  of  the  busy 
rooks,  from  their  nests  in  the  elms,  far  above  the  roof; 
then  the  tmttering  of  the  sparrows  in  the  white- 
thorn under  my  window.  And  these  seemed  to  me 
like  the  tunini?  of  the  instruments  in  the  church  be- 


24  THE  DIARY  OF 

fore  the  psalii ,  i^liicli  was  soon  poured  out  in  a  deli- 
cious flow  of  continuous  song  from  the  throats  of  the 
thrushes  and  the  blackbirds. 

Yes,  the  clioir  was  all  ready  for  me ;  and  when  T 
opened  my  casement,  the  hawthorn  and  the  lilacs 
sent  up  their  delicate  fragrance,  like  another  kind  of 
music 

I  felt  so  happy  as  I  looked  out  on  the  humble 
creatures  all  sending  up  their  incense  of  content  to 
God,  that  ray  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  I  knelt  and 
said  aloud  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  then  I  said  in  my 
heart, — 

"Dear  creatures  of  God,  ye  seem  never  able  to 
utter  what  ye  would  of  his  praise ;  and  yet  you  do 
not  know  half  his  goodness — not  half  of  what  we 
know.  Ye  bask  in  the  light  of  his  smile,  but  we 
know  the  secret  of  his  heart.  Ye  praise  him  for  the 
overflowing  of  his  riches,  which  cost  him  nothing ; 
we  praise  him  for  the  sacrificing  love  wliich  cost 
Him  his  Son.  The  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches ;  but  we 
only  know,  O  our  Sa\dour,  the  love  of  thy  poverty  and 
thy  cross." 

For  the  words  Mother  said  to  me  on  my  birthday 
morning  have  been  much  in  my  mmd  ever  since.     • 

So  it  seemed  to  me  most  natural  this  moniing  that 
every  act  should  be  something  like  what  the  Cate- 
chism says  the  Holy  Sacrements  are — "  an  outward 
visible  sign  of  an  inward  spiritual  grace."  And  as  I 
opened  my  window,  I  thought,  "Jesus  my  Sun,  I 
open  my  heart  to  thee  I  Let  thy  light  and  thy  Spirit 
flow  into  my  soul,  as  thy  light  and  air  into  my  cham- 
ber." And  Avas  not  the  pure  cold  water  one  of  His 
own  consecrated  images  ?  and  did  not  the  very  clothes 
that  I  put  on  recall  the  white  robes,  made  white  as  no 


MBS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  25 

fuller  on  earth  can  white  them,  in  a  fountain  no  hand 
on  earth  could  open  or  close  ? 

I  had  no  temptation  to  "  light  discourse,"  for  Betty- 
had  just  left  the  room  inside  mine,  and  was  at  no  time 
very  conversational ;  and  not  a  creature  else,  except 
the  birds,  was  awake. 

When  I  was  dressed,  I  thought  how  I  might  best 
fulfil  the  good  Bishop's  directions  as  to  "  retiring  to 
my  closet."  At  first  I  thought  I  would  ask  Mother 
to  let  me  clear  a  small  chamber  in  the  turret  above 
the  apx^le-room.  But  then  I  thought  it  would  be 
rather  like  the  Pharisees  praying  in  the  comers  of 
the  streets,  to  go  up  there  in  the  sight  of  all  to  per- 
form my  devotions ;  and  I  should  lose  the  sweet  feel- 
ing that  no  one  knows  what  I  am  doing  but  God. 

So  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  place  could  be 
a  better  closet  than  a  young  maid's  chamber  like 
mine,  with  such  sights  and  scents  and  sounds  to  be 
had  from  my  casement. 

But  this  inward  debate  occupied  some  time,  so 
that  I  had  not  much  time  for  the  "  seven  actions  of 
piety."  Indeed,  the  first  two  of  adoration  and  thanks- 
giving seemed  necessarily  much  the  longest  for  mc, 
because  I  have  so  endlessly  much  to  give  thanks  for, 
and  so  little  to  wish  for.  I  must  ask  Mother  whether 
this  is  right,  and  also  what  the  act  of  oblation  means. 
Also  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  I  made  the  right 
kind  of  "  act  of  piety  "  in  reading  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
My  chapter  was  the  first  of  St.  Matthew,  but  I  did 
not  get  beyond  the  twenty-first  verse,  because  it 
seemed  to  me  such  a  wonderful  promise  that  Jesus 
our  Lord  will  really  save  us  from  our  sins,  from  being 
impatient  and  discontented  and  all  the  things  which 
make  us  unhappy.     Before  I  got  any  further  it  was 


v6  THE  DIARY  OF 

high  time  for  me  to  be  going  a-milking.  Tliercfore  I 
resolved,  that  instead  of  sitting  down  to  think  what 
temptations  were  likely  to  come  on  me,  I  would  do 
this  on  my  way  to  the  cliff,  to  the  pasture  where  the 
cows  are.  That  was  how  it  happened  that  my  temp- 
tations came  on  me  before  I  had  time  to  think  of 
them  and  guard  myself;  although  indeed  in  general 
it  seems  to  me  the  very  essence  of  temptations  is  that 
they  come  just  when  and  where  one  does  not  expect 
them. 

On  my  way  to  take  the  milk-pail  from  the  dairy,  I 
went  to  see  if  some  cough  syrup  I  had  made  for 
Widow  Treffry,  and  had  left  to  stand  there  all  night, 
had  settled.  When  I  came  to  the  shelf  on  which  I 
laid  it,  it  was  gone.  On  my  questioning  Betty  (very 
gently,  I  am  sure,  for  it  was  washing-day,  and  we 
know  she  has  all  her  prickles  out  then),  she  replied 
she  could  not  let  such  rubbish  stand  by  her  cream  to 
tempt  all  the  flies  in  the  country.  She  had  put  it  on 
the  window-seat  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  cat  had  upset 
it.  It  was  a  mercy  the  cup  was  not  broken,  and  that 
the  poor  cat  was  not  poisoned.  She  would  not  have 
such  filthy  stuff  in  her  dairy.  To  which  I  retorted 
warmly  that  I  had  certainly  as  much  right  to  the 
dairy  as  she  had,  and  that  she  might  have  known  the 
cat  always  sat  in  that  window-sill  when  there  was  sun- 
shine. 

Betty  replied  that  she  was  not  going  to  be  ordered 
about  by  those  she  had  brought  up  from  the  cradle ; 
and  I  retired  from  the  contest,  worsted  ;  as  I  might 
havcj  known  I  should  be. 

On  my  return  to  my  room,  before  breakfast,  I  found 
all  my  drawers  in  disorder.  On  my  complaining  at 
the  breakfast-table,  Jack  laughed,  and  said  he  had 


MES.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAX.  5:' 

only  been  looking  for  a  piece  of  string,  and  asked  if 
I  intended  to  put  it  in  my  Diary. 

I  colored,  and  said  he  had  no  right  to  pry  into  my 
drawers,  nor  indeed  to  enter  my  room  without  per- 
mission. 

Mother  interposed,  and  said  I  should  not  make  such 
a  storm  about  trifles. 

And  Father  smiled,  and  asked  me  if  my  Diary  was 
to  be  like  that  of  the  citizen  in  the  "  Spectator." 
Monday — Rose  and  dressed,  and  washed  hands  and 
face.     Tuesday — Washed  only  my  hands. 

I  ought  to  have  laughed,  but  I  could  not.  A  pro- 
fane touch  seemed  to  have  brushed  the  bloom  off  my 
new  treasure,  and  so,  somewhat  heavily,  the  day 
passed  on. 

How  very  much  everything  has  changed  with  me 
since  this  morning.  At  all  events  I  have  no  difficulty 
in  finding  enough  to-night  for  "  confession "  and 
"  petition." 

But  to  confess  truly,  I  must,  I  think,  be  just  to 
myself  as  well  as  to  others.  I  have  noticed  that 
sometimes  one  can  fall  into  a  passion  of  self-accusa- 
tion, which  seems  to  me  no  more  true  repentance 
than  a  passion  of  accusing  other  people.  I  think 
one  has  no  right  to  rail  at  one's  self,  any  more  than  at 
any  one  else.  Besides,  it  seems  to  me  so  much  easier 
to  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sob,  "  I  am  a  wretch, 
a  miserable  sinner,  the  chief  of  sinners,"  than  to  say 
with  quiet  shame,  from  one's  inmost  heart,  "  I  was 
unjust  to  Betty  to-day  ;  I  was  cross  and  selfish  with 
Jack  ;  I  was  impatient  even  with  dearest  Mother." 

Disappointment  and  vexation  are  not  repentance. 
Exaggerated  self-reproach  is  not  confession.    In  the 


J8»  TUE  DIARY  OF 

midst  of  our  tears  we  secretly  congratulate  ourselves 
on  our  sensibility  ;  or  the  heart  rebounds  against  the 
excess  of  its  self-accusation,  and  ends  by  estimating 
the  sin  as  very  little,  and  its  penitence  as  very 
great. 

No  :  before  all  things  I  want  to  be  true  to  myself 
and  to  every  one.  I  want  really  to  overcome  my 
sins — not  merely  to  have  the  luxury  of  weeping  over 
them ;  and  therefore  I  must  try  to  know  exactly 
what  they  are.  It  was  my  hasty  temper  that  led  me 
wrong  in  all  these  things.  But  what  makes  my 
temper  hasty  ?  What  was  it  that  Betty  touched  to 
the  quick  in  asserting  her  right  over  me  ?  I  suppose 
it  was  my  pride. 

What  made  me  so  angry  with  Jack  ?  He  certainly 
had  no  right  to  appropriate  my  property ;  but  I  had 
DO  right  to  be  angry.  It  must  be  then  that  I  care 
too  much  about  my  things  I  What  fault  is  that  ? 
Can  it  be  avarice  ? 

And  then,  what  made  me  impatient  with  Mother  ? 
I  thought  she  did  not  justly  stand  up  for  my 
rights. 

My  dignity  I  My  things  I  My  rights  I  How  mean 
and  selfish  it  looks  I 

What  would  have  made  me  overcome  ?  If  I  had 
thought  of  Betty's  rough  but  most  unselfish  care 
over  us  all  these  years ;  if  I  had  loved  Jack  more 
than  my  miserable  things  /  if  I  had  loved  and  hon- 
ored Mother  as  I  ought,  and  thought  how  tenderly 
faithful  her  reproofs  are,  and  how  I  need  them  1 

What  I  want,  then,  is  love — more  love.  Yes, 
theie  is  enough  to  confess,  and  enough  to  ask  to- 
night. 


JIRS.  KITTY  TEEYYLYAN.  69 

Saturday,  May  the  Fourth. 

This  morning  was  very  wet  and  windy,  and  as  I 
came  down  into  the  dairy  I  found  Betty  there  already 
with  the  pails  full  of  new  milk. 

"  Do  you  think  I  was  going  to  let  such  a  young 
thing  as  you  go  over  the  cliff  in  this  storm  ?"  said  she, 
letting  down  the  pails  with  her  stout  stalwart  arms. 
"  The  wind  would  have  blown  over  a  dozen  of  you." 

Yet  Betty  has  rheumatism,  and  certainly  her 
clothes  are  more  jDrecious  to  her,  and  more  diScult 
to  rej)lace,  than  mine. 

"  Betty,"  I  said,  in  a  flood  of  gratitude,  "  I  never 
ought  to  have  spoken  to  you  so  yesterday  about  the 
dairy." 

"  Young  folks  must  have  their  tantrums,"  said 
Betty,  no  doubt  thinking  it  her  duty  not  to  miss 
such  an  opportunity  of  carrying  on  my  education. 

The  glow  of  my  repentance  was  somewhat  chilled, 
when  Betty  added, — 

*'  There  is  not  a  creature  that  comes  near  her,  that 
Missis  does  not  do  her  best  to  spoil.  There'd  be  no 
order  in  this  house  but  for  me.  From  Master  Jack 
to  the  cat,  not  a  creature  would  know  what  it  is  to 
keep  in  their  place." 

The  universality  of  the  censure  took  off  its  edge, 
and  I  could  not  help  laughing ;  which  I  found  did 
my  temper  much  good. 

I  do  think  in  good  books  something  should  be 
said  of  the  good  it  does  one  sometimes  to  laugh  at 
one's  self.  I  think  it  would  often  do  people  more 
good  than  to  cry. 

I  think  religious  people  now  and  then  i)erplex 
themselves  by  giving  their  faults  too  grand  religious 
names.  It  is  necessary,  indeed,  to  dig  among  the 
3* 


80  THE  DIARY  OF 

roots  of  our  sins ;  but  occasionally  I  think  we  may 
accomplisli  as  much  by  lightly  moving  the  blossoms. 
For  the  blossoms  also  have  seeds ;  and  weeds  fipread 
by  the  seed  as  well  as  by  the  root. 

Sunday,  Jane  the  Ninth. 

Sundays  are  always  delightful  days.  The  very- 
taking  of  the  Sunday  clothes  out  of  the  chest  where 
they  have  lain  all  the  week  among  the  lavender,  the 
sight  of  the  clean  swept  stone  floor  of  the  hall  where 
we  take  our  meals,  gives  one  such  a  fresh,  clean, 
festive  feeling. 

We  have  not  very  many  Sunday  books.  Mother 
sometimes  brings  down  the  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying" 
from  her  closet ;  and  when  I  sit  at  her  feet,  and  she 
reads  it  to  me,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  walking  with  one 
of  the  old  saints  through  some  King's  Garden,  full 
of  all  manner  of  fruits  and  flowers,  and  adorned  with 
strange  antique  statues  of  gods  and  heroes  and  saints 
all  mixed  together,  with  stately  foreign  robes  and 
faces,  and  garlanded  with  exotics ;  while  the  air  is 
heavy  with  fragrance  and  sunshine,  and  musical  with 
the  regular  flow  of  artificial  fontinels.  I  enjoy  it 
so  much. 

And  then  to  read  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  afterwards 
is  like  coming  from  that  royal  garden  straight  up  to 
the  cliff  behind  our  house,  feeling  the  crisj>  fresh 
grass  under  one's  feet,  and  the  fresh  sea-air  on  one's 
face, — looking  over  the  fields  where  the  cows  and 
sheep  and  God's  other  common  creatures  are  enjoying 
themselves, — looking  over  the  great  and  wide  sea, 
with  its  countless  emerald  and  purple  waves,  to 
which  we  see  no  end, — looking  up  to  the  great  sunny 
sky  ^6  which  there  is  no  end ; — rjid  through  it  all 


MES.   KITTY  TEEVYLYAM.  31 

listening  to  a  Human  Voice  like  our  own,  telling  us 
in  simplest  every-day  words  things  tliat  touch  our 
inmost  hearts  ;  and  knowing  that  the  Human  Voice 
is  also  Divine,  and  that  the  things  it  tells  are  all  true, 
for  ever  and  for  ever. 

Then  there  are  the  Homilies,  and,  of  course,  the 
Prayer-Book.  I  do  not  w^sh  for  any  more  religious 
books.  Besides,  Betty  has  Foxe's  Book  of  Martyrs, 
with  terrible  pictures,  and  stories  of  agonies  will- 
ingly borne  for  Truth's  sake — of  heroic  patience  and 
joy  in  death  v/hich  brace  the  heart,  as  a  strong  pure 
air  braces  the  limbs — especially  now  that  I  am  old 
enough  to  know  how  to  avoid  the  tortures  and  the 
dreadful  pictures. 

Monday,  June  the  Tenth. 

I  WISH  I  could  feel  easy  about  Jack.  It  is  not 
that  he  has  any  great  faults.  He  is  honorable  and 
truthful  as  our  Father's  son  could  hardly  fail  to  be ; 
and  he  has  little  gracious  kindly  ways  which  remind 
one  of  Mother,  and  often  melt  Betty's  heart  when 
she  has  most  reason  to  be  indignant  with  him.  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is  that  makes  me  imeasy  about  him, 
except  that  he  never  seems  to  me  to  do  anything  he 
does  not  like.  He  will  work  in  the  harvest  time  as 
hard  as  any  of  the  men  and  do  as  much ;  but  no 
efforts  of  mine  or  Betty's  can  get  him  up  in  the 
mornings,  although  he  knows  how  angry  Father  is 
about  it,  and  how  hard  we  all  have  to  work  to  make 
up  for  it.  He  will  wander  away  for  a  day's  shooting  •» 
or  fishing,  just  when  every  one  is  busiest,  and  then 
return  vvdth  birds  or  fish,  and  a  jest,  which  pacifies 
Betty,  but  not  Father,  and  makes  Mother  sad.  He 
loses  or  spoils  his  own  things,  and  comes  on  all  of  us 


83  THE  DlAllY  OF 

and  claims  our  things,  as  if  tlieir  cliief  use  was  to 
make  up  for  his  waste,  and  then  calls  us  mean  and 
stingy  if  we  remonstrate,  and  often  succeeds  in  mail- 
ing us  feel  as  if  we  were,  when  he  says,  "  Is  he  so 
ungenerous  as  not  to  share  anything  with  us  ?"  But 
is  it  generosity  to  share  your  things  with  others,  if 
you  regard  their  property  as  a  kind  of  inexhaustible 
fund  to  draw  on  in  return  ? 

He  is  never  in  time  for  church,  although  he  knows 
Mother  loves  nothing  more  than  to  have  us  all  walk 
into  church  together,  and  the  vicar  looks  quite  angry 
as  he  saunters  up  the  aisle,  and  once  even  stopped 
in  the  Psalms,  so  that  everybody  looked ;  and  some- 
times even  he  alludes  to  such  habits  in  his  sermons. 
"How  can  people  make  such  a  fuss,"  Jack  says, 
"  about  a  little  thoughtlessness  ?"  But  what  is  at 
the  bottom  of  thoughtlessness  which  pains  those 
dearest  to  us  ? 

It  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  almost  any- 
thing to  see  Jack  do  anything  he  really  disliked,  or 
give  up  anything  he  really  liked,  just  because  it  was 
right.  I  am  sure  Mother  is  often  anxious  about  him, 
especially  since  Aunt  Beauchamp's  husband,  who  is 
rather  a  great  man  in  London,  promised  to  get  him  a 
commission  in  the  army.  There  are  so  many  terrible 
temptations  in  the  army.  Mother  says,  for  those  who 
go  mth  the  stream.  I  cannot  think  Jack  would 
ever  do  anything  mean  or  disgraceful ;  but  the  oppo- 
site of  right  is  wrong,  and  one  never  knows  where  a 
wrong  turn  may  lead. 

When  we  were  children  I  never  saw  this.  Jack 
was  the  best  playfellow  in  the  world.  If  he  got  me 
into  scrapes,  he  always  knew  how  to  get  out  of  them ; 
and  if  not,  I  was  quite  content  to  be  in  disgrace 


MliS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN:  6'6 

witli  liim ;  and  if  lie  liked  to  lead,  I  liked  quite  as 
much  to  follow.  So  I  think  there  never  could  have 
been  ha^Dpier  children  than  we.  What  princes  could 
have  had  a  better  play-room  than  the  dear  old  court 
beliind  the  house  ?  with  the  felled  trees,  and  the 
ruinous  sheds,  and  the  old  pigeon  turret  with  the 
winding  stairs,  and  our  dog  Trusty,  and  the  cat,  and 
the  fowls,  and  ducks,  and  pigeons  living  in  the  free- 
dom Betty's  love  of  animals  insures  to  them,  going 
where  they  like,  and  doing  what  is  right  in  their 
own  eyes.  It  was  as  good  as  a  fairy  tale  any  day, 
and  better  than  ^sop's  Fables,  to  watch  the  stately 
ways  of  the  cocks,  and  the  system  of  education  pur- 
sued by  the  mother-ducks,  and  the  hens,  with  their 
tender  anxieties;  and  to  see  the  grand  patriarchal 
airs  of  Trusty,  and  the  steady,  stealthy  pursuit  of 
her  own  interests  by  the  cat.  The  farm-yard  was  a 
world  to  us.  The  children  who  lived  long  ago  in 
this  house,  when  the  three  sides  of  the  quadrangle 
were  perfect,  and  all  was  stately  and  complete,  never 
could  have  loved  the  old  house  as  we  do  in  its  ruins. 
Then  we  had  the  cove  by  the  sea  at  the  end  of  our 
valley — the  cove  with  the  white  and  sparkling  sand, 
which  the  sea  filled  at  every  tide,  sometimes  creeping 
m  quiet  ripples,  but  oftener  leaping  in  in  great 
white  waves,  far  taller  than  we,  and  thundering  on 
the  shore  like  kindly  giants  pretending  to  intend  to 
swallow  us  up,  only  we  knew  them  too  well  to  be 
afraid.  What  an  enchanted  jDlace  it  was  to  us.  Every 
day  the  sea  washed  us  uj)  something  new,  some  glit- 
tering pebble  or  shell ;  and  then  there  was  the  cave 
with  the  white  .sand  heaped  up  at  the  end,  and  the 
pool  at  the  entrance,  where  we  made  a  causeway 


84  THE  DTARY  OF 

"  like  Alexander  the  Great  at  Tyre,"  Hugh  Spencer 
said. 

For  our  happiest  daj^s  were  when  Hugh  Spencer, 
the  vicar's  son,  came  to  play  with  us.  He  is  three 
years  older  than  I  am,  and  he  knew  so  much  history 
that  he  was  always  linking  our  plays  with  great  men 
and  women  who  lived,  and  great  things  that  were 
done  long  ago ;  so  that  playing  with  him  always  felt 
like  something  real  and  great.  And  then  he  had  a 
wonderful  history  of  a  man  called  Robinson  Crusoe, 
written  by  a  Mr.  Defoe,  of  London ;  and  although 
Jack  did  not  like  the  trouble  of  reading,  he  was  al- 
ways ready  to  listen  to  the  wonderful  stories  of  the 
island,  and  the  cave,  and  the  savages. 

And  Hugh  always  made  a  kind  of  queen  of  me, 
being  the  only  girl,  and  seemed  to  think  he  could 
never  do  enough  to  save  me  trouble  or  to  give  me 
pleasure.  He  cut  those  nice  steps  down  to  the  cove 
for  me,  that  I  might  climb  up  easily  when  the  tide 
was  in.  And  he  never  would  let  Jack  order  me 
about  as  he  did  at  other  times,  although  I  had  no 
dislike  to  it. 

I  suppose  it  makes  a  difference  to  boys  not  having 
sisters  of  their  own.  Hugh's  only  sister  died  when 
she  was  seven  years  old.  One  Sunday  evening  Hugh 
took  me  into  his  father's  study,  to  see  her  miniature. 
Such  a  little,  fair,  grave  face,  with  large,  thoughtful, 
open  eyes — grave  and  beautiful  as  an  angel's,  I 
thought.  It  only  wanted  the  wings,  to  be  much 
more  like  a  cherub  than  any  of  the  cherubs  in 
church,  which  the  clerk  is  so  proud  of  having 
painted  with  red  cheeks  and  blue  wings. 

I  suppose  the  memory  of  the  little  sister  in  heaven 


3fIiS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  35 

gives  Ilugii  that  kind  of  gentleness  lie  has  fdth  little 
girls  and  women — even  with  Betty. 

The  memory  of  that  little  sister  and  of  his  mother, 
who  died  soon  after.  He  watches  3Iother,  and  is  as 
reverent  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  saint — which,  indeed, 
I  believe  she  is. 

It  must  make  everything  seem  very  sacred  to  have 
any  so  very  near  us  in  heaven. 

It  does  seem  as  if  this  world  were  a  more  sacred 
place  to  Hugh  Spencer  than  to  most  people.  He 
looks  so  differently  on  many  things.  For  instance, 
last  Sunday,  as  we  came  back  from  church,  Hugh 
walked  with  us.  As  we  came  near  a  miner's  village 
which  lies  in  a  hollow  below  the  church-path,  sounds 
of  wild,  drunken  revelry  came  up  to  us  from  it. 

Jack  said,  "  The  miners  seem  merry  to-night." 

"  That  dreadful  place  !"  Hugh  said  softly  to  me, 
for  we  were  walking  l)ehind  the  rest.  "  I  cannot 
sleep  sometimes  for  thinking  of  it." 

"  Why  ?"  I  said.     "  Betty  says  they  are  not  poor." 

"  No,  but  they  are  immortal !"  he  said ;  "  and  I  do 
not  thiak  the  name  of  God  is  known  there  except 
in  oaths.  I  saw  a  dying  woman  there  a  few  weeks 
since,  and  she  had  never  heard  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ." 

**  Do  they  never  come  to  church  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Only  at  weddings  or  funerals,"  he  said ;  "  and  if 
they  came,  what  would  the  beautiful  words  be  to 
them,  untaught  and  untrained  as  they  are,  but  so 
much  music  ?  You  might  as  well  talk  to  an  infant 
in  Greek." 

"  The  vicar  does  say  a  good  deal  that  is  like  Greek 
to  me,"  I  said  (for  our  vicar  is  a  very  learned  man, 
and  of  course  he  would  not  be  respected  as  he  is  if 


36  'VnE  DIARY  OF 

his  thoughts  were  always  level  to  the  con  prehension 
of  the  congregation).  "  He  knows  so  much,"  I 
added,  fearing  I  had  said  something  disrespectful, 
'*  of  course,  one  cannot  always  expect  to  understand. 
The  sermons  always  make  me  feel  how  ignorant  I 
am.  It  makes  one  understand,  too,  how  many  wise 
men  there  have  been  in  the  world — Socrates,  and 
Aristotle,  and  St.  John  Chrysostom,  and  so  many 
others  whose  names  I  cannot  even  pronounce — that, 
altogether,  it  raises  one's  mind,  and  humbles  one 
very  much  at  the  same  time,  only  to  think  how 
much  there  is  to  be  known  and  how  little  one  knows. 
And  then  it  is  such  a  comfort  the  lessons  are  always 
plain." 

"  But  there  are  people  who  know  as  little  about 
Christ  as  you  do  about  Socrates,"  he  replied ;  "  and 
I  cannot  help  thinking  that  if  St.  John  Chrysostonc, 
or,  far  better,  St.  Paul  himself  had  been  here,  they 
would  have  found  some  way  to  make  the  people 
understand — even  such  people  as  those  miners." 

It  was  a  new  thought  to  me  that  the  sermon  could 
ever  be  as  i^lain  as  the  Bible ;  for  Mother  never 
allowed  us  to  discuss  anything  said  or  done  in 
church.    I  was  afraid  we  were  on  dangerous  ground. 

But  Hugh  pursued  his  ovm.  thoughts,  and  said, 
"  I  am  going  to  Oxford  soou,  and  when  I  have  taken 
my  degree,  and  learned  how  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
used  to  speak,  before  I  take  ordei*s  I  should  like  to 
go  to  another  kind  of  university,  to  learn  how  the  pooi 
fttruggling  men  and  women  around  us  speak  and 
think — to  live  among  the  fishermen  on  our  coasts — 
to  go  to  sea  with  them — to  share  their  perils  and 
privations —that  I  might  learn  how  to  reach  their 
hearts  when  I  have  to  preach ;    and  then  to  live 


MES.  KITTY  TREYYLYAm  87 

among  such  as  these  poor  miners — ^to  go  undergromid 
with  them — to  be  with  their  families  when  the  Father 
is  brought  home  hurt  or  crushed  by  some  of  the 
many  accidents,  to  speak  to  them  of  God  and  our 
Saviour — not  on  Sundays  only,  and  on  the  smooth 
days  of  life,  but  when  their  hearts  are  torn  by 
anxiety,  or  crushed  by  bereavement,  or  softened  by 
sickness  or  deliverance  from  recent  danger.  Men 
who  have  hearts  to  brave  death  over  and  over  again 
to  maintain  wife  and  children,  ought  not  to  be  left  to 
die  around  us  as  ignorant  as  the  Heathen." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  you  do  know  all  the  fishermen  and 
miners  in  the  county,  Hugh,  as  it  is.  I  am  sure  they 
all  greet  you  when  we  meet  them,  like  an  old  friend ; 
and  I  never  heard  of  any  clergyman  finishing  his 
studies  in  the  mines  or  among  the  fishermen." 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  any  sermons  preached  on 
the  sea-shore  to  fishermen?"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
reverent  voice ;  "or  of  any  life  much  of  which  waa 
passed  among  the  homes  of  the  poor  ?  I  sometimes 
think,"  he  continued,  "  it  would  be  a  good  rule  if 
every  clergyman  were  obliged  to  begin  by  being 
something  else,  that  he  might  know  what  the  trials 
and  temptations  of  ordinary  people  are ;  and  that 
sermons  might  be  more  like  heart  speaking  to  heart, 
and  less  like  a  dry  metallic  echo  of  human  voices, 
once  living,  but  silenced  long  ago  in  death." 

I  was  silent  for  some  time.  Hugh's  words  made 
me  think;  but  then  I  thought  of  Mother,  and  I 
said, — 

"  Mother  never  lived  in  fishermen's  huts  or  among 

miners.    For  years  she  has  not  been  strong  enough  to 

go  beyond  much  the  garden,  except  to  church,  and 

her  youth  was  spent  in  my  grandfather's  quiet  par- 

4 


88  THE  DIARY  OF 

souage ;  yet  she  seems  always  to  understand  wliat 
every  one  feels.  People  of  all  kinds  pour  out  their 
sorrows  before  her,  and  she  has  words  of  comfort 
for  all." 

*' Yes,"  replied  Hugh,  thoughtfully.  "Perhaps 
any  kind  of  trial  which  makes  the  heart  tender  and 
deep,  like  your  Mother's,  opens  to  it  the  depths  of  all 
other  hearts.  Perhaps  some  may  learn,  like  her,  to 
know  all  men  and  women  simply  by  knowing  Him 
so  well  who  knows  what  is  in  all.  But  every  one  can 
scarcely  become  like  your  Mother." 

In  the  evening,  w^hen  I  went  out  into  the  kitchen 
to  toast  the  bread,  Betty  said, — 

"  What  a  wonderful  fine  discourse  the  parson  gave 
us  to-day  I    It  rolled  along  like  the  sea." 

"  "What  was  it  you  liked  so  much  in  it,  Betty  V'  I 
asked. 

"  Bless  your  heart  I"  said  Betty,  "  do  you  think 
I  would  make  so  bold  as  to  understand  our  parson  % 
Why,  they  do  say  there  is  not  such  another  scholar 
in  all  the  country.  But  it  was  a  wonderful  fine 
discourse.     It  rolled  along  like  the  waves  of  the 


Thursday,  July  the  Eleverth. 

To-night,  as  we  were  supping,  and  Hugh  Spencer 
with  us,  Betty  came,  in  great  agitation,  into  the 
room,  and  exclaimed  that  a  Church  parson  had  been 
mobbed,  and  all  but  killed,  at  Falmouth. 

He  had  been  preaching  to  the  people  in  the  open 
air,  and  was  staying  quietly  in  Falmouth,  when  tho 
mob  were  exc^^ed  against  him,  and  led  on  by  tbo  crews 
of  some  privateers  in  the  harbor,  attacked  the  house 
in  whicn  he  was,  swearing  they  would  murder  the 


3£BS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  b^ 

parson.  The  family  fled  in  terror,  leaving  Mm  alone 
with  one  courageous  maid-servant.  The  mob  forced 
the  door,  filled  the  passage,  and  began  to  batter 
down  the  partition  of  the  room  in  wliich  the  parson 
was,  roaring  out,  "  Bring  one  the  Canorum  !  Where 
IS  the  Canorum  ?"  Kitty,  the  maid,  through  whom 
Betty  heard  of  it,  exclaimed,  *'  Oh,  sir,  what  must 
we  do  V  He  replied,  "  We  must  pray."  Then  she 
advised  him  to  hide  in  a  closet;  but  he  refused, 
saying,  "  It  was  best  for  him  to  sta^  just  where  he 
was."  But  he  was  as  calm  as  could  be,  and  quietly 
took  down  a  looking-glass  which  hung  against  the 
wall,  that  it  might  not  be  broken.  Just  then  the 
privateers'-men,  impatient  of  the  slov/  progress  of 
the  mob,  rushed  into  the  house,  put  their  shoulders 
to  the  door,  and  shouting,  "  Avast,  lads !  avast  1" 
tore  it  down  and  dashed  it  into  the  room  where  the 
clergyman  was.  Immediately  he  stepped  forward  in 
their  midst,  bareheaded,  that  they  might  all  see  his 
face,  and  said,  "  Here  I  am.  Which  of  you  has  any- 
thing to  say  to  me  ?  To  which  of  you  have  I  done 
any  wrong  ?  To  you  ? — or  you  ? — or  you  ?"  So  he 
continued  speakmg  until  he  had  passed  through  the 
midst  of  the  crowd  into  the  street.  There  he  took 
his  stand,  and,  raising  his  voice,  said,  "  Neighbors, 
countrymen !  do  you  desire  to  hear  me  speak  ?" 
The  mob  stood  hesitating  and  abashed,  and  several 
of  them  cried  vehemently,  "  Yes,  yes ;  he  shall  s^Deak  1 
— ^he  shall !  Nobody  shall  hinder  him  !"  and  two 
of  their  ring-leaders  turned  about  and  swore,  not  a 
man  should  touch  him.  Then  they  conducted  him 
Bately  to  another  house,  and  soon  after  he  left  the 
town  in  a  boat. 
"  A  brave  heart  the  parson  must  have  had,  truly," 


iO  TUE  DIARY  OF 

laid  Father.  "  I  had  rather  face  an  army  than  to  be 
pulled  in  pieces  by  a  mob.  But  what  did  the  mob 
attack  him  for  ?" 

"Because  he  will  preach  in  the  fields,  Master,'* 
said  Betty,  "  and  the  people  will  go  to  hear  him,  and 
the  parsons  won't  have  it,  and  the  magistrates  read 
the  Eiot  Act  on  him  the  day  before." 

"  But  parsons  and  privateers'-men  do  not  usually 
act  in  concert,"  said  Father,  "  and  the  Riot  Act  seemed 
more  wanted  for  the  mob  than  for  the  parson  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  them,  sir  I"  said  Jack.  "  Some  say 
this  parson  has  been  sent  here  by  the  Pretender.  The 
common  people  go  to  hear  him  by  thousands,  and  he 
speaks  to  them  from  a  hedge  or  a  door-step,  or  any 
place  he  can  find ;  and  the  women  cry,  and  fall  into 
hysterics." 

"  Not  the  women  only,  Master  Jack,"  interposed 
Betty.  "  My  brother-in-law,  as  wild  a  man  as  ever 
you  saw,  was  struck  down  by  them  last  summer,  and 
he  has  been  like  a  lamb  ever  since." 

"  What  struck  him  down,  Betty  ?"  said  Mother,  in 
a  bewildered  tone. 

"  It  is  the  words  they  say !"  said  Betty, — "  they  are 
60  wonderful  powerful  I  And  they  do  say  that  they 
be  mostly  Bible  words,  and  the  parson  is  a  regular 
Church  parson — ^none  of  your  low-lived  Dissenters — 
and  if  he  comes  in  our  parts,  I  shall  go  and  hear  him." 

"  But,  Betty,  you  must  take  care  of  what  you  are 
about,"  said  Mother.  "  There  are  wolves  in  sheeps' 
clothing;  and  I  do  not  understand  women  going 
into  hysterics  and  men  being  struck  down.  There  is 
nothing  like  it  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  I  hope, 
indeed,  it  is  no  design  of  the  Jesuits." 

But  Betty  stood  her  ground.    "  I  am  no  scholar^ 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAK  41 

Missis,"  said  she ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  hear  the 
parson  that  turned  my  brother-in-law  into  a  lamb." 

"  And  I,"  said  Father,  "  should  like  to  see  the  man 
who  can  quiet  a  mob  in  that  fashion." 

And  I,"  said  Hugh  Spencer  quietly  to  me,  "  should 
like  to  hear  the  sermons  which  bring  people  together 
by  thousands." 

I  do  not  know  that  I  should  have  thought  so  much 
about  it  if  our  vicar  had  not  preached  about  it  on  the 
next  Sunday. 

The  things  our  vicar  preaches  about  seem  generally 
to  belong  to  times  so  very  long  ago,  that  it  quite 
startled  us  to  hear  him  say  that  in  these  days  a  new 
heresy  had  sprung  up,  headed  by  most  dangerous  and 
fanatical  persons  calling  themselves  clergymen  of  the 
Church  of  England.  This  new  sect,  he  said,  styled 
themselves  Methodists,  but  seditiously  set  all  method 
and  order  at  defiance.  They  had  set  all  England  and 
Wales  in  a  flame,  and  now,  he  said,  they  threatened 
to  invade  our  peaceful  parish.  He  then  concluded 
by  a  quotation  from  St.  Jerome  (I  think),  likening 
the  heretics  of  his  day  to  wolves,  and  jackals,  and  a 
great  many  foreign  wild  beasts.  He  gave  us  a  cata- 
logue of  heresies  from  the  fourth  century  onward, 
and  told  us  he  had  now  done  his  part  as  a  faithful 
shepherd,  and  we  must  do  ours  as  valiant  soldiers  of 
the  Church. 

Betty  thought  our  vicar  meant  that  we  should  be 
valiant  like  the  privateers'-men  at  Falmouth ;  but  I 
explained  to  her  what  I  thought  he  really  meant. 

But  in  the  evening,  as  I  was  reading  in  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles  how  the  magistrates  and  the  mob  seemed 
to  agree  in  attacldng  the  Apostles ;  and  about  the 
riot  at  Ephesus  and  the  calmness  of  St.  Paul,  I  won- 


42  MRS,  KITTY  TREVYLYAIT. 

dered  if  the  Apostle  looked  and  spoke  at  all  like  tliat 
brave  clergyman  at  Falmouth. 

And  my  dreams  that  night  were  a  strange  mixture 
of  that  old  riot  at  Ephesus,  and  this  new  riot  at  Fal 
mouth,  and  Foxe's  "  Book  of  Martyrs." 

Hugh  says  the  clergyman's  name  is  the  Reverend 
John  Wesley,  and  that  he  is  a  real  clergyman,  and 
fellow  of  a  college  at  Oxford, 


II. 

/^J^  0-DAY  a  letter  came  from  Aunt  Henderson  to 
\«  )  ^^^^^^5  inviting  him  and  me  to  pay  a  visit  to 
them  and  Aunt  Beauchamp  in  London.  She 
said  it  would  be  a  pity  to  let  slip  this  opportunity, 
it  was  time  I  should  be  learning  something  of  the 
world ;  and  Aunt  Beauchamp,  who  was  staying  at 
Bath  for  the  waters,  would  fetch  me  in  her  coach  from 
Bristol,  if  we  could  get  as  far  as  that. 

Father  would  not  hear  of  going  himself,  saying  he 
had  seen  enough  of  the  world,  and  had  done  with  it ; 
but  he  was  very  earnest  that  I  should  go.  He  said  I 
ought  not  to  mope  my  life  away  in  this  comer. 

Mother  turned  rather  pale,  and  spoke  of  the  perils 
of  the  world  for  such  a  child  as  me. 

But  Father  would  not  heed  her ;  he  has  found  a 
ehip  about  to  sail  from  Falmouth  to  Bristol,  and  he 
himself  will  accompany  me  thus  far.  So  all  is  settled, 
and  Mother  says  no  doubt  it  is  best.  'T  were  a  pity 
my  mind  should  grow  narrow,  and  I  should  come  to 
think  our  little  world  was  all.  But  to  the  primrose 
in  the  wood  her  world  is  not  narrow ;  she  sees  as  far 
around  her  as  the  rose  in  the  King's  Garden,  and  looks 
up  all  day  through  the  fretted  windows  of  her  count- 
less green  leaves  to  the  sun,  and  at  night  beyond  the 
sun,  into  God's  World  of  countless  stars. 


44  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  do  uot  see  how  our  world  can  be  wider  than  just 
80  far  along  the  path  God  makes  for  us  as  He  clears 
the  way  for  us  to  see.  And  I  do  not  see  that  it  need 
be  wider  than  home  and  heaven. 

Father  and  Jack  say  it  shows  how  much  I  need  a 
change,  that  I  am  so  unnatural  as  not  to  wish  to  go. 
And  mother  is  busy  all  day  ransacking  her  stores  for 
remnants  of  old  finery  to  asck  me  withal.  So  I  sup- 
pose it  is  just  tTbejpatJi  for  me,  and  I  must  go. 

Sunday  Evbnino. 

Mr  box  is  packed,  all  but  the  comer  into  which  I 
must  squeeze  my  diary,  if  it  were  only  for  the  precious 
words  at  the  end  in  Mother's  handwriting. 

I  am  glad,  now  it  is  settled,  that  it  is  so  near.  I 
cannot  bear  to  meet  Mother's  eyes,  and  see  her  try  to 
smile  as  she  turns  them  away,  and  feel  how  long  they 
have  been  resting  on  me. 

And  I  cannot  bear  to  see  Trusty  watch  me  in  that 
wistful  way  and  hammer  his  tail  on  the  floor,  when- 
ever I  look  at  him.  The  poor  beast  knows  so  well  I 
am  going  away,  and  I  cannot  tell  him  why,  or  how 
Boon  I  shall  be  back  again.  And  I  know  to-morrow 
evening  he  will  come  snuffing  about  all  my  things, 
and  up  to  the  empty  chair  where  I  sit,  and  then  go 
to  Mother  and  sit  down  gravely  before  her  and  whine, 
and  feel  as  if  I  had  foi*saken  him  and  done  his  faith- 
ful heart  a  wrong.  And  no  one  will  be  able  to  ex- 
plain it  to  him. 

Oh,  I  wish  I  were  back  again,  or  that  things  need 
never  change  1 

A  terrible  thought  came  to  me  to-night  as  we  were 
all  sitting  quiet  in  the  great  hall  window,  after  wp 
had  sung  the  evening  hymn. 


MBS.  KITTY  TBEVYLTAK  45 

I  thouglit  how  wliat  made  me  dread  this  parting 
is  only  because  it  is  a  faint  imcertain  shadow  of  the 
dreadful  certain  changes  that  must,  must  come ;  and 
that  every  day  of  these  happy  unvarying  days  we  are 
goiag  on,  hand  in  hand,  and  heart  in  heart,  on  and 
on,  always,  always  to  the  point  where  our  hands  must 
be  unclasped. 

■     Partings  are  terrible  because  they  are  the  fore- 
shadowings  of  death. 

But  life,  life  itself,  joyous  growing  life  itself,  is 
leading  us  on  to  death ! 

These  vague  yearnings  and  regrets,  and  presenti- 
ments of  evils  which  perhaps  do  not  come — ^they  are 
not  vague,  they  are  not  delusive ;  they  are  indeed  but 
shadows,  but  echoes ;  but  they  are  shadows  from  the 
valley  of  the  shadows,  which  is  the  one  only  certainty 
life  brings  us ;  they  are  echoes  of  farewells  which 
must  be  said  at  last — and  not  answered  I 

Mother  came  in  as  I  had  finished  these  words,  and 
brought  me  some  little  bags  of  lavender  she  had  just 
finished  to  lay  in  my  linen.  She  saw  I  had  been  cry- 
ing, and  bade  me  go  to  bed  at  once,  and  finish  my 
packing  in  the  morning. 

Then  she  knelt  down  with  me  by  the  bedside,  as 
she  used  when  I  was  a  little  child,  acd  said  the 
Lord's  Prayer  aloud  with  me,  and  saw  me  safely  into 
bed,  and  tucked  me  in  as  v>^hen  I  wis  a  little  child, 
and  kissed  me,  and  wished  me  good  night  in  her 
own  sweet,  quiet  voice. 

But  when  she  went  away  I  cried,  and  almost 
wished  she  had  not  come. 

All  the  days  and  nights  I  am  away  from  her  shall 
I  not  feel  like  a  child  left  alone  in  the  dark  ? 

But  then  came  on  me  the  echo  of  her  voice  saying, 


46  THE  DIARY  or 

"  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,"  and  if  I  can  keep 
that  in  my  heart,  I  cannot  feel  like  a  child  alone  in 
the  dark. 

I  suppose  that  is  why  our  dear  Saviour  taught  it 
to  us,  and  not  only  taught  it  us,  but  said  it  with  us, 
tliat  we  might  feel,  as  it  were.  His  hand  in  ours  when 
we  say  it,  and  so  be  wrapped  all  around  with  love. 

Hackney,  May  the  Twentieth. 

It  has  happened  as  Mother  said.  The  first  few 
days  were  dreadful.  I  felt  like  a  ghost  in  another 
world, — I  mean  a  kind  of  heathen  ghost  in  a  world 
of  shadows  it  did  not  belong  to. 

But  now  the  world  begins  to  look  real  to  me 
again,  especially  as  eight  days  of  my  absence  are 
really  over,  and  I  am  all  that  truly  and  surely  nearer 
home. 

Mother  stood  like  a  white  statue  at  the  door  when 
I  rode  away  on  the  pillion  behind  Father;  Jack 
laughed  and  made  jests,  partly  to  cheer  me  up,  and 
partly  to  show  himself  a  man ;  Betty  hoped  I  should 
come  back  safe  again,  and  find  them  all  alive,  "  but 
no  one  ever  knew ;"  and  then  she  cried,  and  her  veiy 
dismal  forebodings  and  her  honest  tears  were,  some- 
how or  other,  the  most  comforting  thing  that  hap- 
pened to  me  that  morning ;  for  Betty's  tears  opened 
the  flood-gates  for  mine,  and  then  her  forebodings 
roused  my  spirit  to  find  refuge  against  them ;  and 
the  only  refuge  I  could  find  was  to  fly  from  all  the 
uncertainty  straight  to  Him  with  whom  all  is  life  and 
certainty  ;  to  fly  from  circumstances  to  God  himself, 
and  say, — "  Thou  knowefct.  Thou  carest.  Keep 
them  and  me." 

And  then  I  became  calm,  and  could  even  t«lk  to 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  47 

Father  as  we  rode  along,  and  tliink  of  the  last  re- 
quests I  wanted  to  make  for  the  animals  and  the 
flowers,  which  had  to  be  cared  for  wliile  I  was  gone. 
Hugh  Spencer  met  us  on  the  shore,  and  helped  us 
on  board  with  my  trunk.  I  do  not  remember  that 
he  said  anything  particular  to  cheer  me,  but  I  felt 
better  for  seeing  him.  And  I  begged  him  to  go  and 
see  Mother  often.  And  it  comforts  me  to  tliink 
he  will,  until  next  month,  when  he  is  going  to  Ox- 
^  ford. 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  there  was  a  poor  sick 
woman  on  board  who  had  a  little  child,  which,  as 
she  was  too  ill  to  notice  it,  fell  to  me  to  take  care  of; 
because  it  made  me  feel  that  God  had  not  left  this 
piece  of  my  life  out  of  his  care,  but  would  find  some- 
thing for  me  to  do.  And,  besides,  tlie  pleasure  of 
little  children  always  makes  one  happy  in  spite  of 
one's  self. 

When  we  landed  at  Bristol  it  was  in  a  small  degree 
like  lea^dng  home  again.  The  little  child  clung 
around  me  so  lovingly,  and  the  poor  woman  was  so 
grateful.  She  said  she  could  never  thank  me  enough 
for  beiug  so  condescending. 

She  took  me  for  a  great  lady.  That  must  have 
been  because  of  Father's  looks.  It  did  make  me 
proud  to  see  how  noble  he  looked  in  his  plain  old 
suit  of  clothes.  Every  one  knew  he  was  a  *'born 
gentleman ;"  and  when  cousins  met  us  in  their  vel- 
vets, and  laced  suits,  and  hats,  I  thought  he  looked 
like  a  prince  in  disguise  among  them. 

It  is  worth  while  coming  into  the  world  a  little,  if 
only  to  learn  what  Father  is. 

And  cousins  felt  it  too.     One  of  the  first  things 


48  TEE  DIARY  OF 

Cousin  Harry  said  to  me  when  we  were  all  in  the 
coach  on  our  way  to  London  was, — 

"Your  father  looks  like  an  old  general,  Kitty, 
One  would  Lever  think  he  had  been  rusticating  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  among  the  Cornish  boors." 

"  Captain  Trevylyan  could  not  fail  to  look  like  a 
gentleman  and  a  soldier,"  said  his  father.  Sir  John 
Beauchamp. 

I  like  Sir  John's  manners  far  better  than  Cousin 
Harry's.  He  is  so  grave  and  courteous,  and  attends 
to  all  I  say  as  if  I  were  a  princess,  in  the  old  cavalier 
manner  Father  speaks  of;  and  never  swears  unless  he 
is  very  angry  with  the  groom,  or  the  coachman. 
But  Harry  spices  his  conversation  with  all  kinds  of 
scarcely  disguised  oaths,  and  interrupts  not  me  onl^f 
but  his  mother  and  Cousin  Evelyn,  and  is  as  free  and 
easy  as  if  he  had  known  me  all  my  life. 

Yet  I  think  he  is  good-natured,  for  once  when  I 
colored  at  some  words  he  used,  he  was  quite  careful 
for  an  hour  or  two.  Cousin  Evelyn  and  he  had  most 
of  the  conversation  to  themselves,  although  Evelyn 
was  not  very  talkative.  Frequently  when  I  looked 
at  her  I  found  her  large  dark  eyes  resting  on  me,  as 
if  she  were  reading  me  like  a  book.  Aunt  Beau- 
champ  was  busied  among  her  furs  and  perfumes,  and 
seemed  every  now  and  then  on  the  point  of  going 
into  hysterics  when  the  horses  dashed  round  a  comer 
into  a  village,  or  the  carriage  jolted  on  the  rutty 
road. 

In  one  place  not  far  from  Bristol  she  was  very 
much  frightened.  We  had  to  stop  while  way  was 
made  for  us  through  the  outskirts  of  a  large  mob 
who  were  collected  to  hear  a  great  preacher  called 
Whitclield.     Uncle  Beauchamp  says  he  is  a  wild 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAN-.  49 

fanatic,  and  that  the  magistrates  were  not  worth 
their  salt  if  they  could  not  i)ut  such  fellows  down. 
Aunt  Beauchamp  said  we  might  as  well  travel  through 
some  barbarous  country  as  be  stopped  in  the  King's 
highroad  by  a  quantity  of  dirty  colliers,  who  made 
the  air  not  fit  to  breathe. 

But  as  we  waited  I  could  not  help  noticing  how 
very  orderly  the  people  were.  Thousands  and  thou- 
sands all  hanging  on  the  words  of  one  man,  and  so 
quiet  you  could  hear  your  own  breathing !  All  quite 
quiet,  except  that  as  I  listened  I  could  hear  repressed 
sobs  from  some,  both  men  and  women,  and  I  saw 
tears  making  white  channels  down  many  of  the  sooty 
faces. 

And  the  preacher  had  such  a  clear  wonderful  voice. 
He  seemed  to  speak  Tvithout  effort.  His  whole  body, 
indeed,  not  only  his  tongue,  seemed  moved  by  the 
passion  in  him,  but  the  mighty  musical  voice  itself 
flowed  easily  as  if  in  familiar  conversation,  and  the 
fine  deep  tones  were  as  distinct  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd  where  we  stood  as  if  he  had  been  whis- 
pering in  one's  ear.  He  looked  like  a  clergyman,  and 
the  words  I  heard  were  very  good.  He  was  speak- 
ing of  the  great  love  of  God  to  us  all,  and  of  the 
great  sufferings  of  our  Lord  for  us  all. 

I  should  have  liked  to  stay  and  listen  with  the 
colliers.  I  never  heard  music  like  that  voice ;  yet 
the  words  were  more  than  the  voice;  and  oh,  the 
reality  is  more  than  the  words !  It  made  me  feel 
more  at  home  than  any  words  since  Mother's  last 
prayer  with  me ;  and  I  should  like  Hugh  Spencer  to 
have  been  there. 

Uncle  Beauchamp  asked  me  soon  after  we  had 
gone  on,  what  made  me  look  so  thoughtful. 
6 


50  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  said  I  was  wondering  if  these  were  like  the 
people  they  called  Methodists  in  Cornwall,  who  came 
together  in  thousands  to  hear  a  clergyman  called 
Wesley  preach. 

"Are  they  there  too?"  said  Uncle  Beauchamp, 
"  Confound  the  fellow^s,  they  are  like  locusts.  The 
land  is  full  of  them,  but  if  ever  they  set  their  feet 
near  Beauchamp  Manor,  I  shall  know  how  to  give 
them  their  deserts !" 

"  They  have  met  their  deserts  in  more  places  than 
one,  sir,"  said  Harry ;  and  he  proceeded  to  relate  a 
number  of  anecdotes  of  Methodist  preachers  being 
mobbed,  and  beaten,  and  dragged  through  horse- 
ponds  ;  which  seemed  to  amuse  him  very  much. 

But  they  made  me  think  again  of  Foxe's  "  Book 
of  Martyrs." 

Suddenly  Cousin  Harry  paused,  and  said, — 

"Cousin  Kitty  looks  as  grave  as  if  she  were  a 
Methodist  herself;  and  as  fierce  as  if  she  could  imi- 
tate the  Methodist  woman  who  once  knocked  down 
three  men  in  defence  of  a  preacher  they  were  beat- 
ing." 

"  I  cannot  see  any  fun  in  hundreds  of  men  setting 
on  one  and  ill-using  him,"  I  said. 

"  Well  said,  little  Englishwoman,"  interposed  Uncle 
Beauchamp.  "  I  have  no  doubt  if  she  did  not 
knock  the  assailants  down,  she  would  have  picked 
the  preacher  up  and  dressed  his  wounds,  in  face  of 
any  mob." 

"  I  hope  I  should,  Uncle,"  I  said. 

And  since  that.  Uncle  Beauchamp  generally  calls 
me  his  little  Samaritan. 

But  Aunt  Beauchamp  checked  the  further  progress 
of  the  conversation  by  languidly  observing  that  she 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAJ^.  51 

thought  we  had  been  occupied  long  enough  with 
colliers,  and  mobs,  and  Methodists,  and  all  kinds  of 
unwashed  people. 

*'  John  Wesley  is  certainly  not  that,"  said  Harry. 
"  He  looks  as  neat  and  prim  as  a  court  chaplain." 

"  Is  the  fellow  a  dandy  too  ?"  exclaimed  Uncle 
Beauchamp,  —  "more  contemptible  even  than  I 
thought." 

"  Dandy  or  not,"  said  Harry,  combatively,  "  I  have 
heard  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"At  all  events  he  is  not  a  dandy  of  Harry's 
school,"  said  my  Cousin  Evelyn,  "  whose  highest  style 
is  that  of  a  groom  unwashed  from  the  stable." 

Thus  the  discourse  glided  off  to  the  subject  of 
dress,  which  proved  to  be  inexhaustible,  and  my 
russet  travelling  suit  did  not  fail  to  come  in  for  much 
good-humored  ridicule,  although  Mother  had  Miss 
Pawsey  the  milliner,  express  from  Truro,  to  make  it, 
and  she  comes  up  to  London  at  least  once  in  three 
years  to  learn  the  fashions. 

It  was  three  days  before  we  reached  London.  And 
then  I  was  not  so  much  surprised  with  it  as  my 
cousLQS  wished. 

The  streets  were  certainly  wider,  and  the  houses 
higher,  and  the  shops  grander,  and  I  saw  more  sedan- 
chairs,  coaches,  and  magnificent  footmen  in  an  hour 
than  I  had  seen  in  all  my  life  before.  But  that 
seemed  to  me  all  the  difference.  The  things  man 
makes  seem  to  me,  after  all,  so  very  much  alike, 
only  a  little  larger  or  smaller,  or  a  little  richer  or 
poorer. 

The  great  wonder  is  the  people,  and  that  is  quite 
bewildering.  Because  the  stream  never  ceases  flow- 
ing, any  more  than  the  river  or  the  sea  at  home. 


52  TUE  DIARY  OF 

I  wonder  if  it  is  like  the  river,  or  like  the  sea ;  I 
mean,  if  it  is  really  the  flowing  on  of  the  river,  the 
stream  always  the  same,  and  the  drops  always  dif- 
ferent ;  or  if  it  is  more  like  the  waves  beating  on  the 
shore,  the  waves  always  different,  but  the  water 
always  the  same,  heaving,  tossing,  struggling,  beaten 
back,  pressing  on  again,  and  again,  and  again. 

I  think  it  is  more  like  the  sea. 

And  so  many  of  the  faces  look  so  white  and  wan 
and  defeated,  as  if  the  people  had  been  tossed  and 
broken  and  beaten  back  so  very  often.  Only  God 
will  not  let  his  human  creatures  struggle  and  be 
tossed  about  and  baffled  for  nothing.  I  am  quite 
sure  of  that. 

What  a  blessing  is  it  that  the  things  we  are  dim 
and  doubtful  about  are  only  the  things  half  way  up, 
and  that  at  the  very  top  of  all,  all  is  perfectly  clear 
and  radiantly  bright  I 

For  God  our  Father  is  there ;  and  His  Son  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  also  the  Son  of  man,  is 
there ;  and  God  is  love. 

Yes,  at  the  top  of  this  mountain  of  the  world  are 
not  cold  snows  and  empty  space,  but  heaven  and 
God.  And  when  we  are  there  too,  every  thing  will 
be  clear  to  us,  as  it  is  to  Him. 

And  meantine.  Thou  Thyself,  O  Blessed  Saviour, 
art  with  us  here ;  and  Thou,  who  lovcst  each  of  us 
more  than  our  dearest  friend,  more  than  Mother 
loves  me,  and  knowest  all  things,  and  knowest  God, 
art  satisfied  that  all  is  right. 

And  I  am  satisfied  too. 

Only  I  wish  the  preacher  I  heard  near  Bristol, 
Mr.  Whitefield,  could  speak  to  these  poor  London 
crowds.    I  think  he  might  comfort  them.    Perhaps 


JfliS.  KITTY   TBEVYLYAir,  5b 

he  Tias  spoken  to  them,  and  has  helped  those  who 
would  listen. 

Hackney,  near  London. 

The  place  Aunt  and  Uncle  Henderson  live  in  is 
called  Hackney.  I  had  no  idea  a  merchant's  house 
could  be  as  pretty  as  this  is.  Father  always  spokG 
of  his  sister  Henderson  as  "  Poor  Patience,"  implying 
that  she  had  lowered  herself  irremediably  by  marry- 
ing a  "tradesman."  But  I  find  that  Aunt  Henderson 
as  commonly  speaks  of  Father  as  "  my  poor  brother," 
apparently  regarding  Cornwall  as  a  kind  of  vault 
above  ground,  in  which  we  led  a  ghostly  existence, 
not  strictly  to  be  called  life. 

And  indeed  as  to  what  are  called  riches,  handsome 
furniture  and  costly  clothes.  Aunt  Henderson  is 
certainly  right. 

God's  riches,  of  which  the  Bible  says  the  earth  is 
full,  overflowing  from  heaven  as  from  a  fountain 
over-full,  are  of  course  hers  as  well  as  ours,  if  she 
would  look,  so  that  they  do  not  count  in  the  com- 
parison. 

It  is  very  strange  to  me  the  idea  some  of  the 
people  in  London  seem  to  have,  as  if  the  rest  of  the 
world  were  a  kind  of  obscure  outskirts  of  this  great 
town. 

Aunt  Beauchamp  and  my  cousins  seemed  in  a 
polite  way  quite  grateful  that  I  did  not  eat  with  my 
fingers,  or  talk  like  a  ploughboy.  They  condescended 
to  wonder  that  I  had  such  a  pretty  manner,  con- 
sidering that  I  had  seen  none  of  "  the  world." 

And  Aunt  Henderson,  I  believe,  is  sincerely  thank- 
ful that  I  have  not  a  hump,  or  long  ears,  or  any  othei 


04  THE  DIARY  OF 

appendage  that  might  be  expected  in  a  human  being 
bom  out  of  "  town." 

But  since  London  is  not  the  City  of  the  Great 
King  nor  even  the  centre  of  the  earth,  perhaps  the 
wonder  is  not  so  great  after  all. 

There  is  a  nice  large  garden  behind  the  house,  and 
and  my  bedroom  looks  over  it  across  a  long  reach  of 
marshy  ground  to  a  range  of  blue  hills  which  look 
wavy  like  our  moors.  I  feel  sure  there  must  be  furze 
and  heather  there,  and  a  kind  of  longing  has  pos- 
sessed me  every  morning  to  feel  my  feet  on  the  turf 
again,  and  smell  the  flowers.  One  morning  I  rose 
early  to  walk  to  them.  But  as  I  was  leaving  the 
garden.  Uncle  Henderson  came  down  in  his  night-cap 
and  Indian  dressing-gown,  quite  breathless  with 
hurry,  and  said, — 

"  Child,  where  are  you  going  at  this  time  of 
day  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  those  hills.  Uncle,"  I  said.  "  They 
look  like  the  hills  at  home.  I  am  used  to  long 
walks,  and  I  think  I  can  be  back  by  breakfast-time." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  kind  of  compassionate 
kindness,  as  one  would  on  a  half-witted  person,  and 
taking  my  hand  led  me  back  to  the  house. 

At  breakfast  Aunt  Henderson  told  me  never  to 
venture  alone  outside  the  garden  walls.  "  And  as 
for  Hampstead,"  she  said,  "  neither  your  Uncle  nor  I 
nor  any  respectable  citizens  like  to  be  seen  there, 
since  they  have  set  up  that  wicked  place  at  Belsize, 
where  they  meet  to  dance  and  gamble.  Besides,  the 
roads  are  infested  with  highwaymen.  Child,  I  trem- 
ble to  think  what  would  have  become  of  you." 

To  comfort  me  Uncle  Henderson  took  me  iu  form 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-,  55 

round  the  garden  after  breakfast,  and  showed  me  a 
great  many  young,  new,  spiky  little  trees,  which  he 
said  had  come  from  all  kinds  of  places  I  never  heard 
of,  and  one  of  which  he  said  was  the  only  one  in 
England. 

After  that  I  could  not  help  looking  with  respect 
and  even  a  kind  of  tender  interest  on  the  puny  ban- 
ished trees,  although  it  was  impossible  for  me  quite 
to  agree  with  my  aunt,  who  said  she  did  not  see  how 
any  person,  with  a  well-regulated  mind  could  ever 
desire  to  wander  beyond  such  a  garden  as  Uncle 
Henderson's. 

Before  now  I  have  always  said  my  morning  prayers 
looking  towards  those  blue  hills.  Which  way  shall 
I  look  now  ?  I  can  look  straight  up  to  the  sky ;  for 
my  other  vnndow  looks  towards  London,  with  its 
smoke  and  its  dull  world  of  houses,  and  its  sea  of 
people. 

Yet  perhaps  that  is  the  best  way  to  turn  my  prayers, 
after  all.  For  the  Bible  says,  God  looks  on  the  earth 
"  to  behold  the  children  of  men."  After  all,  the  hills 
are  only  perishable  dust,  and  in  the  city  are  the  im- 
perishable souls. 

It  is  those  poor  wan  men  and  women  who  were 
made  in  the  image  of  God,  not  this  beautiful  earth. 

And  perhaps  even  the  stars  themselves  are  only 
perishable  dust  compared  vrith  the  men  and  women 
toiling  and  struggling  in  that  great  city. 

If  there  is  one  heart  suffering  there,  surely  our 
Saviour  cares  more  for  it  than  for  all  the  things  in 
the  world ;  and  I  am  afraid  there  must  be  so  many  I 

And  if  there  is  one  heart  praying  there — and  surely 
there  arc  thousands — that  heart  is  nearer  God  and 
more  sacred  than  the  highest  star. 


56  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  wonder  if  God  meant  me  to  come  to  London 
partly  to  learn  tliat. 

The  sea  and  the  hills  and  the  skies  are  so  glorious. 
But  God  cares  more  for  any  poor,  fallen,  suffeiing, 
human  creature  than  for  all  the  skies  and  hills  and 
seas  together.     Hugh  Spencer  has  often  said  so. 

But  I  never  felt  it  so  much  as  now,  since  I  heard 
the  preacher  near  Bristol,  bringing  tears  do\NTi  those 
rough  black  faces,  just  with  speaking  to  them  about 
God  and  our  Saviour. 

Uncle  Henderson  is  a  Dissenter. 

Mother  warned  me  a  little  against  this.  But  I  find 
they  have  their  own  good  books,  just  as  we  have,  al- 
though they  are  not  the  same. 

Quite  a  different  set  of  names  there  are  on  the 
book-shelves  in  the  best  parlor ;  Baxter  and  Howe, 
and  Owen,  and  a  number  of  tall,  old  books,  bound  in 
calf,  which  do  not  look  much  read,  and  which  seemed 
to  me  to  go  on  very  much  the  same  from  page  to 
page,  with  very  long  paragraphs. 

It  must  be  out  of  one  of  these  books,  I  think,  Uncle 
Henderson  reads  the  sermons  on  Sunday  evenings, 
because  it  seems  to  go  round  and  round  just  like  that 
without  getting  on;  so  that  no  one  never  knows 
when  the  end  is  coming,  which  I  think  is  a  pity.  It 
is  so  much  easier  to  bear  anything  patiently  if  one  can 
only  see  the  end,  although  it  may  be  ever  so  far  off. 

Some  of  the  books,  however,  seem  to  me  as  good 
as  Bishop  Taylor,  and  easier  to  understand,  especially 
*'  The  Saint's  Rest,"  by  Mr.  Baxter,  and  a  small  book 
called  "  The  Redeemer's  Tears  over  Lost  Souls,"  by 
Mr.  Howe. 

There  are  also  some  new  hymns,  some  of  which  are 


MBS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  57 

delightful,  composed  by  Dr.  Watts  and  by  Dr.  Dod- 
dridge. 

I  do  not  think  Mother  knows  anything  of  all  these 
good  people.  She  will  be  pleased  when  I  tell  her. 
It  is  so  pleasant  to  think  how  many  more  good  books 
and  men  there  are  and  have  been  in  the  world  than 
we  knew  of. 

Uncle  Henderson,  however,  does  not  seem  at  all 
pleased  with  Mother's  good  books.  When  he  asked 
me  one  day  what  we  read  at  home  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  I  told  him  (although  Mother  does  not  read  her 
religious  books  only  on  Sunday),  he  shook  his  head 
very  gravely  at  Bishop  Taylor,  and  said  he  was  very 
much  in  the  dark,  quite  an  Arminian,  indeed,  if  not 
a  Pelagian,  besides  his  natural  short-comings  in  com- 
mon with  all  Prelatists. 

Then  I  said  that  Mother's  principal  good  book  was 
the  Bible,  and  that  I  liked  it  much  the  best  of  all. 

And  Uncle  and  Aunt  Henderson  both  said, — 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  no  one  disputes  that." 

Uncle  Henderson  always  calls  Sunday  "the  Sab 
bath."  I  daresay  it  is  just  as  right  a  name.  But  I 
do  not  like  it  so  much.  It  sounds  like  the  end  instead 
^rf  the  beginning.  The  Lord's  Day  is  the  first  day  of 
the  week  now,  not  the  last,  as  in  the  old  Jewish  times, 
and  I  cannot  at  all  see  that  Sunday  is  a  "  Heathen 
name,"  as  Uncle  Henderson  says.  Because,  certainly, 
the  sun  is  nrt  heathen,  and  I  like  to  think  of  Sunday 
as  a  Idnd  of  sunrise  and  dawn  among  the  days. 

Neither  do  I  like  the  service  in  Uncle  Henderson's 
chapel  very  much. 

At  home  the  sermon  was  very  often  beyond  my  un- 
derstanding, but  then  there  were  always  the  prayers, 
and  the  psalms,  and  the  lessons.    But  here  th^  prayer 


58  TUE  DIARY  OF 

seems  as  difficult  as  the  sermon,  and  is  nearly  as  long, 
and  all  in  one  piece  without  break.  And  when  it  is 
done  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  only  hearing  about  sacred 
things  instead  of  speaking  to  God  (although,  of 
course,  that  is  my  own  fault).  The  minister  does 
not  preach  about  Socrates  and  St.  Jerome,  like  our 
vicar ;  but  somehow  or  other,  when  he  speaks  about 
God  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  it  seems  just  the  same 
ai  if  they  had  lived  in  the  past,  and  made  decrees  and 
done  great  things  a  long  time  ago. 

But  I  do  not  think  the  people  generally  like  it 
much  more  than  I  do.  They  seem  so  very  glad  to 
go.  They  rise  the  moment  the  blessing  is  finished 
(there  is  a  rustling  of  silks  and  a  settling  of  dresses 
long  before),  put  on  their  hats,  and  seem  to  try  which 
can  get  out  first. 

Uncle  Henderson  says  they  put  on  their  hats  to 
show  that  we  must  have  no  superstitious  reverence 
for  places. 

The  sermons  are  very  long.  Last  Sunday  there 
were  five-and-twenty  heads.  And  each  head  was 
nearly  as  long  as  our  vicar's  Christmas  Day  sermon, 
which  certainly  is  always  rather  short  on  account  of 
the  puddings. 

And  the  people  do  not  look  interested.  They  are 
all,  however,  very  handsomely  dressed.  Aunt  Hen- 
derson says  she  has  counted  five  coaches  at  the 
door;  almost  as  many,  she  says,  as  there  are  at 
the  church  Lady  Beauchamp  attends  at  the  West 
End. 

I  suppose  the  poor  go  somewhere  else.  I  should 
like  to  know  where. 

Uncle  Henderson  says  this  was  quite  a  celebrated 
chapel  Jn  the  days  of  the  old  Puritans.    The  minister 


3IRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAX.  69 

used  to  preach  in  it,  and  the  people  to  come  to  it,  at 
the  risk  of  their  lives,  or  at  the  least  of  having  their 
ears  slit,  and  being  beggared  by  fines. 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  congregation  then. 
Probably  none  of  them  went  to  sleep.  I  suppose  the 
poor  came  there  then ;  and  the  coaches  went  some 
where  else. 

On  our  way  home  from  the  chapel  to-day  I  saw 
where  the  poor  people  go. 

It  was  in  a  great  open  space  called  Mooi-fields. 
Thousands  of  dirty  ragged  men  and  women  were 
standing  listening  to  a  preacher  in  a  clergyman's 
gown.  We  were  obliged  to  stop  while  the  crowd 
made  way  for  us.  At  first  I  thought  it  must  be  the 
same  I  heard  near  Bristol,  but  when  we  came  nearer 
I  saw  it  was  quite  a  different  looking  man  ;  a  small 
man,  rather  thin,  with  the  neatest  wig,  fine  sharply 
cut  features,  a  mouth  firm  enough  for  a  general,  and 
a  bright  steady  eye  which  seemed  to  command  the 
crowd.     Uncle  Henderson  said, — 

"  It  is  John  Wesley." 

His  manner  was  very  calm,  not  impassioned  like 
Mr.  Whitefield's;  but  the  people  seemed  quite  as 
much  moved. 

Mr.  Whitefield  looked  as  if  he  were  pleading  with 
the  people  to  escape  from  a  danger  he  saw  but  they 
could  not,  and  would  draw  them  to  heaven  in  spite 
of  themselves.  Mr.  Wesley  did  not  appear  so  much 
to  plead  as  to  speak  with  authority.  Mr.  Whitefield 
seemed  to  throw  his  whole  soul  into  the  peril  of  his 
hearers.  Mr.  Wesley  seemed  to  rest  with  his  whole 
soul  on  the  truth  he  spoke,  and  by  the  force  of  his 
own  calm  conviction  to  make  every  one  feel  that 


6(r  THE  DIARY  OF 

what  lie  said  was  true.  If  his  hearers  were  moved, 
it  was  not  with  the  passion  of  the  preacher ;  it  was 
with  the  bare  reality  of  the  things  he  said. 

But  they  were  moved  indeed.  No  wandering  eye 
was  there.  Many  were  weeping,  some  were  sobbiag 
as  if  their  hearts  would  break,  and  many  more  were 
gazing  as  if  they  would  not  weep,  nor  stir,  nor 
breathe,  lest  they  should  lose  a  word. 

I  wanted  so  much  to  stay  and  listen.  But  Uncle 
Henderson  insisted  on  driving  on. 

"  The  good  man  means  well,  no  doubt,"  he  said, 
"but  he  is  an  Arminian.  He  has  even  published 
most  dangerous,  not  to  say  blasphemous,  things 
against  the  immutable  divine  decrees." 

And  Aunt  Henderson  said, — 

"  It  might  be  all  very  well  for  wretched  outcasts 
such  as  those  who  were  listening,  but  we,  she  tmsted, 
who  attended  all  the  means  of  grace,  had  no  need  of 
such  wild  preaching." 

But  he  was  not  speaking  of  the  immutable  decrees 
to-day,  nor  of  anything  else  that  happened  long  ago. 
He  was  speaking  of  the  living  God,  and  of  the  liv- 
ing and  the  dying  soul,  of  the  Saviour  dying  for 
lost  sinners,  of  the  Shepherd  seeking  the  lost  sheep. 

And  I  am  so  glad,  so  very  glad,  the  lost  sheep 
were  there  to  hear. 

Because  in  Uncle  Henderson's  chapel  it  seems  to 
me  there  are  only  the  found  sheep,  or  those  who 
think  they  are  found ;  and  they  do  not,  of  coui*se, 
want  the  good  news  nearly  so  much,  nor,  perhaps 
on  that  account,  do  they  seem  to  care  so  much 
about  it. 

I  wonder  if  the  Pharisees,  when  they  said  our 
Lord   was    beside    himself,  thought    His    parables 


MES.  KITTY  TRKVYLYAm  61 

miglit  nevertlieless  be  of  some  use  to  those  wlio 
did  not  (as  they  did)  "attend  all  the  means  of 
grace." 

I  have  found  a  friend. 

At  the  end  of  Uncle  Henderson's  garden  he  has 
fitted  up  a  little  house  where  an  aged  aunt  of  his 
lives  with  one  servant  to  take  care  of  her.  Every 
one  calls  her  Aunt  Jeanie. 

She  is  a  widow  more  than  seventy  years  of  age. 
Her  husband  was  killed  when  she  and  he  w^ere  quite 
young,  which  is  perhaps  one  reason  why  her  heart 
seems  to  have  kept  so  fresh  and  young.  He  was 
killed  by  King  James'  soldiers  who  were  sent  to  dis- 
perse a  congregation  of  poor  people  to  whom  he  was 
preaching  in  the  open  air  on  the  Scotch  hills,  just,  I 
suppose,  as  Mr.  Whitefield  and  Mr.  Wesley  preach  to 
tne  poor  people  now. 

But  Aunt  Jeanie  does  not  seem  to  have  a  bitter 
thought  about  it.  "How  should  she,"  she  says, 
"  now  that  the  sorrow  is  so  nearly  over  ?"  At  first, 
indeed,  she  did  feel  bitter ;  but  what  is  the  use  of 
God  sending  us  aflliction  unless  it  takes  the  bitter- 
ness out  of  us  ?  And  now  the  years  of  separation 
are  so  nearly  over,  and  her  Archie,  who  has  all  these 
years  been  growing  like  her  Lord,  will  be  waiting  to 
welcome  her  home. 

"  But  then,"  I  said  one  day,  "  it  would  have  been 
sweeter  to  be  prepared  on  earth  together.  A  year  in 
heaven  must  make  any  one  so  far  beyond  us  on  earth ; 
we  could  hardly  understand  each  other." 

"  My  poor  bairn,  what  thought  have  you  then  of 
the  holiness  of  the  saints  ?  It  is  the  pride,  lassie, 
that  separates  us  from  one  another,  not  the  goodness. 


62  THE  DTARY  OF    ' 

I  know  well  the  greatest  saint  in  heaven  would  bo 
easier  to  speak  to  than  many  a  poor  sinner  on  earth. 
Have  you  forgotten  the  Lord  himself,  and  how  he  let 
the  sinful  woman  kiss  his  feet  ?!' 

Aunt  Jeanie  always  calls  me  either  my  bairn  or 
lassie.  I  cannot,  of  course,  write  down  her  Scotch, 
l)ut  it  has  an  unspeakable  charm  to  me.  Her  voice 
has  a  tender  cadence  in  it  I  never  heard  in  any  Eng- 
lish voice.  It  touches  me  like  an  echo  of  some  voice 
dear  and  familiar  long  ago. 

She  has  beautiful  histories  to  tell  me  of  good 
people.  She  has  known  so  many.  Best  of  all  I  like 
to  hear  her  speak  of  the  family  of  Mr.  Philip  Henry 
of  Broad  Oak  in  Flintshire.  The  farm-house  plenty 
and  homeliness  about  the  life,  blended  with  such 
learning  and  piety,  seem  to  me  so  very  beautiful. 

The  family  prayers  in  the  great  farm-house  kitchen ; 
the  brother  and  four  sisters  all  growing  up  in  the 
double  sunshine  of  the  love  of  God  and  of  their 
parents;  the  father  in  his  study,  or  preaching,  or 
visiting  the  prisoners  or  the  sick ;  the  mother,  like 
the  woman  in  the  Proverbs,  rising  while  it  is  yet 
night,  "  giving  meat  to  her  household,  and  a  portion 
to  her  maidens,"  stretching  out  her  hands  to  the 
poor,  yea,  reaching  out  her  hands  to  the  needy ; — it 
all  seemed  as  simple  and  sacred  and  happy  as  a  bit 
of  the  Bible. 

Then  old  Mr.  Henry  had  such  good  sayings. 
*'  Prayer  is  the  key  of  the  morning  and  the  bolt  of 
the  night,"  is  one  which  I  have  written  at  the  end  of 
Mother's  words  from  the  "  Golden  Grove." 

Yet  this  holy  family  were  all  Presbyterians. 

Aunt  Jeanie  does  not  know  much  of  Mother's 
good  books  any  more  than  Uncle  Henderson,  but  she 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  6U 

does  not  shake  her  head  when  I  speak  of  them.  She 
says,— 

"  There  is  no  saying  the  strange  ways  by  which 
people  may  get  to  heaven,  if  only  they  love  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  and  try  according  to  their  light  to  fol- 
low him.  Was  there  not  actually  an  English  minister, 
calling  himself  Archbishop  of  Glasgow,  in  the  worst 
days  of  the  Prelatists,  who  wrote  a  book  on  the 
Epistles  of  St.  Peter,  than  which  John  Knox  himself 
could  not  have  written  a  better  ?" 

So  whenever  I  am  more  than  usually  wearied  or 
perplexed  by  anything  in  Uncle  Henderson  or  his 
chapel,  I  creep  out  to  Aunt  Jeanie,  and  she  puts  me 
all  right  again. 

Sometimes  she  smiles  drily,  and  says,  "  I  am  doubt- 
less a  wise  bairn,  as  wise  as  the  man  in  the  8j^edator 
who  turned  the  '  Whole  Duty  of  Man '  into  a  book 
of  libels,  by  writing  his  neighbor's  name  opposite 
each  particular  sin."  Sometimes  she  smiles  tenderly, 
and  says,  I  am  a  poor  bewildered  lamb,  and  fears 
"the  wilderness  is  rougher  and  drier  than  usual  just 
now  for  the  little  ones,  since  it  perplexes  even  those 
who  have  been  toiling  long ;  but  the  Good  Shep- 
herd," she  adds,  "  doubtless  knows  the  way,  and  will 
guide  His  own  all  the  more  tenderly  because  it  is 
difficult." 

Yet  Aunt  Jeanie  is  a  Presbyterian  and  I  think  a 
Puritan^  as  much  as  Uncle  Henderson  (the  things  of 
all  others  Father  hates) ;  and  indeed  I  think  she  is 
worse.  Her  husband  at  least  was  a  Covenanter ;  and 
whatever  that  means,  I  know  it  is  something  exceed- 
ingly dangerous,  because  I  remember  our  vicar,  speak- 
ing of  it  when  he  was  congratulating  us  on  living  in 
such  a  Christian  country,  spoke  of  the  "  seditioua 


84  THE  DIARY  OF 

canting  Covenanters"  as  the  lowest  depth  of  tne 
degradation  to  which  Presbyterians  had  reduced 
Scotland. 

Dead  Puritanism  seems  to  me  a  very  terrible  thing. 
There  is  just  the  death  without  the  balms  or  the 
spices,  or  the  beautiful  sepulchre.  Yet  perhaps  it  is 
as  well  dead  religions  should  look  dead,  that  people 
may  know  it  all  the  ^oon^f  and  seek  for  life  where  it 
is  to  be  found. 

But  how  beautiful  Christian  life  seems  in  any  form, 
and  how  much  alike,  whether  in  Mother  or  Aunt 
Jeanie  1  Alike  in  being  life^  and  yet  how  delightfully 
unlike  in  each  I 

Cousin  Tom  Henderson  has  come  home.  He  has 
not  Cousin  Harry  Beauchamp's  free  and  easy  man- 
ners. He  seemed  at  first  very  shy  and  awkward,  but 
now  he  is  getting  used  to  me  and  I  to  him ;  we  are 
quite  friends,  and  his  large  questioning  eyes  which  at 
first  gleamed  so  susi^iciously  from  under  his  shaggy 
eyebrows  now  meet  mine  quite  confidingly. 

To-day,  as  we  walked  in  the  garden  after  the  ser- 
vice in  the  chapel,  he  said  to  me, — 

"  Cousin  Kitty,  could  you  ever  remember  the 
TteadsV' 

"  Our  sermons  never  had  any  heads,"  I  said,  "they 
were  all  in  one  piece." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  did  not  mind  going  to 
chapel  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  always  liked  going  to  church,"  I  said. 

•♦  Why  did  you  like  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Mother  liked  it  so  much,"  I  said,  "  and  then  it 
wa%  Sunday,  and  something  diflferent,  something  bet- 
ter and  more  than  any  other  day,  and  the  cornfields 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAN,  65 

never  seemed  to  look  so  golden,  or  the  sea  so  bright 
as  when  I  walked  to  church  with  Mother's  hand  in 
mine.  And  coming  home  she  let  me  gather  a  nose- 
gay of  wild  flowers,  and  they  and  all  the  world 
always  seemed  fresh  and  clean  as  if  they  had  a  kind 
of  Sunday  clothes  on  like  the  rest  of  us.  That  was 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  now  I  like  Sunday  and  going 
to  church  for  a  thousand  reasons." 

"  Were  you  allowed  to  gather  flowers  on  Sunday  ?" 
said  Tom.  "  Did  Sunday  seem  something  letter  and 
MOKE  to  you  ?  It  was  always  something  less  to  me. 
I  was  not  allowed  to  read  the  books  I  liked,  or  do 
the  things  I  liked.  Certainly  such  a  walk  to  church, 
and  a  sermon  without  heads  would  have  made  a  dif- 
ference. But  then  nurse  always  said  it  was  no  won- 
der I  did  not  like  the  Sabbath,  because  I  was  not 
convei-ted.  Cousin  Kitty,"  he  added  abruptly,  look- 
ing earnestly  in  my  face,  "  are  you  converted  ?" 

The  question  startled  me  very  much,  and  I  did  not 
know  what  answer  to  give. 

"  Because,"  said  Tom,  "  you  know  God  does  not 
love  any  one  who  is  not  converted." 

"  I  am  sure  God  loves  me,  Tom,"  I  said,  "  if  that  is 
what  you  mean.  How  could  I  be  so  wicked  as  to 
doubt  it  for  an  instant,  when  He  has  done  me  nothing 
but  good  all  my  life  long,  and  has  forgiven  me  so 
many  wrong  things  that  I  have  said  and  done,  and 
has  bome  with  me  so  gently,  and  shown  me  my  sins, 
and  helped  me  against  them  whenever  I  have  really 
asked  Him  ?" 

''But  all  that  is  nothing,  they  say,"  said  Tom 
"  unless  you  are  converted,  and  you  know  you  cannot 
Always  have  been  converted.     No  one  is." 

"  But  then  there  is  the  Cross,  Tom,"  I  said.  "  There 
6* 


00  THE  DIARY  OF 

is  the  Cross  I  How  can  I  doubt  that  God  loves  me 
when  I  think  of  the  Cross  ?" 

"  But  they  say  the  Cross  will  sink  us  lower  in  hell 
than  anything  else  unless  we  are  converted,"  said 
Tom.  Then  seeing  me  begin  to  cry,  for  I  could  not 
help  it,  he  added  in  a  gentle  tone, — 

"  Do  not  cry.  Cousin  Kitty.  Perhaps  you  are  con- 
verted ;  you  attend  the  Lord's  Supper,  do  you  not  ? 
so  perhaps  you  are.  It  does  seem  as  if  God  had  been 
very  good  to  ymi,'''' 

There  was  something  so  sad  and  bitter  in  the  em- 
phasis which  he  gave  to  that  "  you,"  that  I  forgot  my 
own  perplexities  altogether  in  pity  for  him,  and  I 
said, — 

"  Cousin  Tom,  God  is  good  to  every  one.  The 
Bible  says  so.  He  is  good  to  every  one  because  He  is 
good,  not  because  we  are  good.  I  cannot  tell  about 
being  converted,  but  I  am  sure  of  that." 

But  at  night  when  I  was  alone  in  my  room,  and 
opened  my  Bible,  and  knelt  down  by  it,  and  made  it 
all  into  a  prayer,  it  all  seemed  to  become  clear  to  me. 

Our  Lord  does  certainly  say,  "  Except  ye  be  con- 
verted, and  become  as  little  children^  ye  shall  not  en- 
ter into  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

He  said  it  to  the  disciples  when  they  were  debating 
who  should  be  the  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

To  the  poor  wandering  multitudes  he  said  not, 
"  Be  converted,"  but  "  Come  unto  MeP 

Then  it  came  into  my  heart. 

"  Lord,  I  do  come  unto  thee.  I  have  come  before. 
But  I  come  again  now — to  thee,  to  thee.  I  turn  to 
thee,  I  would  not  turn  from  thee  for  the  world.  Is 
that  to  be  converted  ?    See,  I  am  at  thy  feet ;  and  if 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVTLYAN.  67 

no%  see,  lam  at  tliyfeet^  and  thou  wilt  surely  do  the 
rest,  since  thou  knowest  what  I  want,  if  I  do  not. 
Lord,  I  am  a  little  child — thou  knowest  I  am  helpless, 
weak,  unable  to  lead  myself.  Heavenly  Father,  I  am 
a  helpless  little  child,  and  thou  art  our  Heavenly 
Father.  I  am  not  a  little  child  half  as  much  as  I 
should  like  in  truthfulness  and  simplicity,  but  I  am 
a  little  child  in  wanting  thee,  in  being  able  to  do 
nothing  without  thee.  Not  because  I  am  child-like, 
Heavenly  Father,  but  because  I  am  helpless,  help 
me,  Not  because  I  am  converted,  O  gracious  Saviour, 
but  because  I  want  thee  help  me ;  not  because  I  love 
thee  (and  yet  I  do  love  thee),  but  because  thou  lovest 
me,  because  thou  diedst  for  my  sins,  help  and  save 
me.  And  help  that  other  poor  wandering  sheep  who 
does  not  seem  to  have  come  back  to  thee  at  all,  and 
save  him,  not  because  he  is  returning,  but  because  he 
is  wandering,  and  it  is  so  wretched  to  wander  in  the 
world  without  thee  l" 

I  never  lay  down  to  sleep  with  a  happier  feeling 
than  that  night. 

The  next  time  Tom  and  I  were  alone  (it  was  by  the 
window  in  the  best  parlor.  Uncle  was  smoking  a 
quiet  pipe  in  the  garden-house,  and  aunt  was  taking 
a  dish  of  tea  with  a  friend),  I  said,  "  Cousin  Tom,  I 
have  been  thinking  of  what  you  said,  and  you  must 
not  say  God  does  not  love  you  because  you  are  not 
converted.  I  am  sure  that  is  not  true.  Because,  our 
Saviour  goes  after  the  sheep  when  they  are  ac- 
tually wandering  and  lost,  which  cannot  be  the  same 
as  being  converted.  And,  of  course.  He  goes  after 
them,  because  He  is  loving  them.  But  you  must  "he 
converted.  Cousin  Tom,"  I  said. 

His  tone  was  altered  from  the  time  he  had  spokea 


68  777^  DIARY  OF 

last,  it  was  not  so  mucli  sad  as  bitter  and  sarcastic, 
and  he  said, — 

"  Cousin  Kitty,  you  are  a  poor  theologian.  How 
am  I  to  be  converted  unless  God  convert  me  V 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  until  at  last  I  said, 
and  I  am  afraid  it  could  not  have  been  the  right 
thing,— 

"  God  is  converting  you — taking  you  by  the  hand, 
as  it  were,  to  turn  you  round — I  mean  He  is  doing 
all  He  can,  He  is  calling  you,  watching  you,  pitying 
you,  seeking  you  in  a  thousand  ways,  He  only  knows 
how  many  and  how  often." 

*'  Then  I  suppose  it  will  be  all  right  one  day,"  said 
Tom,  "  for  who  hath  resisted  His  will  ?" 

I  was  very  much  grieved.  His  tone  was  so  bitter, 
and  I  could  not  help  saying,  it  came  so  forcibly  into 
my  heart, — 

"  Cousin  Tom,  you  are  resisting  His  \sall,  with  all 
your  might — you  will  not  come  back  to  our  Saviour." 

"And  you  are  contradicting  St.  Paul,  Cousin 
Kitty,"  he  said. 

"  How  I  wish  you  could  hear  Mr.  Whitefield  or  ]yir. 
Wesley,"  I  said,  for  I  felt  my  logic  failing. 

"Father  says  Mr.  Wesley  is  an  Arminian,"  said 
Tom,  with  a  satirical  smile;  "but  perhaps  you  are 
little  better.  Mother  always  said  poor  sister  Trevy- 
lyan  was  little  better  than  a  Papist." 

At  first  I  felt  angry  at  his  levity,  but  then  all  at 
once  I  thought  it  was  only  the  laughter  of  a  heart  iU 
at  ease,  and  T  said  gently, — 

"  Cousin  Tom,  you  know  you  do  not  care  in  the 
least  whether  Mr.  Wesley  is  a  Calvinist  or  an  Arminian. 
I  am  sure  you  are  unhappy  about  something  this 
evening.      Can  I  help    you  ?      Jack  says  it  ofte^i 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAUr,  69 

helps  him  just  to  tell  me  anything,  and  you  have  no 
sister." 

"  Nor  any  one  that  cares  for  me,"  said  Tom. 

"  Oh,  Tom,"  I  said,  "  you  must  not  say  Uncle  and 
Aunt  do  not  care  for  you." 

He  had  been  sitting  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  hands  on  his  face ;  now  he  rose,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice,  like  the  grinding  of  an  iron  heel 
on  stone, — 

"  No  doubt  they  care  that  I  should  grow  rich  1  But, 
Kitty,  this  life  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  While  you 
are  here  it  is  a  little  more  cheerful,  but  in  a  few  weeks 
you  will  be  gone,  and  it  will  be  duller  than  ever.  It 
is  one  incessant, '  Thou  shalt  not,'  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other ;  or  only  one  *  Thou  shalt,'  to  counter- 
balance it,  *  Thou  ahalt  make  money  and  be  rich ;' 
*  Thou  shalt  not  go  to  the  play,  thou  shalt  not  dance.' 
And  I  do  go  to  the  theatre  and  to  the  opera  when  I 
can.  It  does  me  less  harm,  I  am  sure,  than  sitting 
at  home  and  hearing  Aunt  Beauchamp  and  Cousin 
Harry  and  nine-tenths  of  our  acquaintance  pulled  to 
pieces  as  reprobates.  But  I  dare  not  tell  father,  be- 
cause he  would  never  believe  I  do  these  things 
without  doing  a  thousand  worse  things  which  I  do 
not.  So  I  am  living  a  lie,  and  I  hate  myself  for  it, 
yet  I  see  no  way  out  of  it." 

"  There  is  a  way  out  of  it,"  I  said.  "  You  must 
give  it  up.  It  is  better  to  lead  the  dullest  life  in  the 
world  than  to  do  wrong,  and  I  am  sure  you  would 
find  it  happier." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  will  not  do,  Cousin  Kitty,  I 
will  not  be  a  hypocrite.  I  will  not  put  on  a  smooth 
face  and  pretend  to  like  all  the  whining  Pharisaical 
cant  I  hear.    If  I  am  to  go  to  the  bad  end,  it  shall 


70  THE  DIARY  OF 

be  by  the  honest  broad  road,  and  not  oy  the  narrow 
prim  path  of  the  Pharisees  which  leads  the  same 
way." 

"But,  Cousm  Torn,"  I  said  after  a  little  while, 
"  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  be  either  bad  or  a  hypo- 
crite.    You  can  be  good^  and  you  must  ivy^ 

"  Do  you  mean  I  must  be  converted  ?"  he  said,  al 
most  fiercely. 

"  I  think,"  I  said,  "  you  should  give  up  thinking 
about  being  converted,  and  should  just  turn  to  God, 
just  look  away  from  your  sins  and  other  people's  sins, 
and  from  everytliing  to  our  Saviour,  and  ask  Him  to 
help  you  to  be  really  good.  Of  course,  it  is  all  real 
with  Him.    And  I  am  sure  He  would.' 

He  did  not  answer,  and  I  went  on, — 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  put  conversion  between  you 
and  Christ,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  shut  door  to  get 
through,  instead  of  just  going  up  to  the  open  door. 
For  the  door  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  open,  I  am 
quite  sure.  Our  Lord  says,  *I  am  the  door;'  which 
must  mean  that  there  is  no  door,  no  closed  door,  but 
that  He  himself  stands  at  the  entrance  instead,  to 
welcome  us  and  lead  us  in.  Think  of  the  difference 
between  a  door  and  a  friend's  face.  And  then  such  a 
Friend  I  we  have  done  him  so  much  wrong,  and  He  is 
80  ready  to  forgive  all ;  and  such  a  Hand  I  pierced  to 
cross  for  us.    St.  Thomas  saw  the  prints  of  the  nails." 

My  heart  was  very  full,  and  when  I  looked  up, 
Tom  brushed  his  hand  over  his  face  and  moved  away. 

But  I  went  up  to  him  and  ventured  to  say, — 

"  Cousin  Tom,  tell  Aunt  Henderson  what  you  have 
told  me ;  I  am  sure  it  would  be  right  and  perhaps  it 
might  help  you  both." 

"  You  don't  know  in  the  least  how  hard  it  would 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAJN,  U 

be,  Kitty,"  lie  said;  "Mother  thinks  all  sins  are 
on  the  same  level.  If  I  told  her  I  had  gone  to  the 
opera  she  would  think  me  as  bad  as  a  thief.  An*i 
yet,"  he  exclaimed,"  "I  do  not  know  but  I  amjnst  as 
bad.     Have  I  not  been  living  a  lie  ?" 

Just  then  Uncle  Henderson  came  in,  and  I  went  to 
join  Aunt  Henderson  in  the  best  parlor. 

She  was  just  then  comparing  poor  Aunt  Beau- 
champ's  system  of  education  with  her  own,  and 
complacently  dwelling  on  the  necessary  difference  in 
the  results  between  her  Tom  and  poor  Harry,  who 
had  just,  she  understood,  lost  a  small  fortune  in  bet- 
ting on  the  race-course.  From  this  she  glided  into 
an  instructive  dissertation  on  her  household  manage- 
ment. Other  people,  she  said,  were  always  complain- 
ing of  their  servants  dressing  like  their  betters,  and 
even  taking  tea  and  snuff.  But  she  never  had  such 
difficulties.  She  would  like  to  see  the  hussy  who 
would  sport  a  silk  gown  or  a  snuff-box  in  her  house. 
The  visitor,  a  gentle  little  woman,  set^'^d  quite  de- 
pressed by  my  aunt's  superiority  and  soon  after  took 
her  leave  in  a  meek  and  subdued  manner. 

A  large  portion  of  Aunt  Henderson's  conversation 
consists  in  these  compassionate  meditations  on  the 
mistakes  and  infirmities  of  her  neighbors.  She  does 
this  "  quite  conscientiously."  "  It  is  so  important," 
she  says,  "  that  we  should  observe  the  failures  and 
errors  of  our  neighbors,  in  order  to  learn  wisdom." 

It  seems  as  if  Aunt  Henderson  thought  the  rest 
of  the  world  were  a  set  of  defective  specimens  ex- 
pressly designed  to  teach  her  wisdom,  just  as  we  used 
to  have  ill-written  and  misspelt  sentences  set  before 
us  to  teach  us  grammar. 

But  I  always  thought  we  learned  more  by  looking 


79  THE  DIARY  OF 

at  the  ic^ZZ-written  sentences.  In  that  way  one's 
writing  and  spelling  grow  like  the  copy  without 
thinking  about  it.  And  it  is  so  much  pleasanter  to 
have  the  beautiful  right  thing  before  one  constantly 
instead  of  the  failure. 

Besides  Aunt  Henderson's  grammar  may  not  be 
exactly  the  standard  after  all. 

And  it  must  matter  just  as  much  how  the  other 
copies  are  written ;  at  all  events,  to  the  people  who 
wiite  them.  I  suppose  no  one  is  sent  into  the  world 
exactly  to  be  a  kind  of  example  of  failure,  even  to 
make  Aunt  Henderson  quite  perfect  by  the  contrast. 
But  only  to  think  of  Aunt  Henderson  calling  Mother 
a  Papist. 

To-day  I  had  a  great  pleasure.  Last  Sunday  we 
went  to  another  chapel,  in  Buiy  Street,  and  heard 
the  venerable  old  minister  called  Dr.  Watts  preach. 
It  was  a  sermon  on  safety  in  death,  to  comfort 
parents  who  had  lost  little  children.  And  I  am  sure 
it  must  have  comforted  any  one ;  it  went  so  far  into 
the  sorrow  with  the  balm.  He  spoke  of  this  world 
as  like  a  garden  in  a  cold  place,  from  which  God, 
like  a  careful  gardener,  took  the  tender  plants  into 
His  own  house  before  the  winter  came  to  spoil  them. 
Tet  sweet  and  touching  as  it  all  was  for  those  whose 
hearts  were  already  awake  to  listen,  there  was  no- 
thing of  the  rousing  penetrating  tones  which  awaken 
those  whose  hearts  are  slumbering. 

The  good  old  man  spoke  so  tenderly  I  thought  he 
must  have  felt  it  all  himself.  But  Aunt  Henderson 
Bays  he  is  a  student  and  an  old  bachelor. 

And  to-day  she  took  me  to  see  the  place  where  ho 
lives.    It  is  a  beautiful  park  belonging  to  Sir  Wil 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAy.  78 

liam  and  Lady  Abney  at  Stoke  I^Tewington.  And 
there,  five  and  thirty  years  ago,  they  brought  Dr. 
Watts  to  be  their  guest  for  a  week  when  he  was 
lonely,  and  poor,  and  in  delicate  health.  And  they 
have  kept  him  there  ever  since,  caring  for  him  like 
a  son,  and  reverencing  him  like  a  father.  He  has 
nice  rooms  of  his  own  ;  and  they  always  are  grateful 
when  he  joins  their  circle,  so  that  he  can  have  ag 
much  solitude  and  as  much  company  as  he  likes,  and 
have  the  good  of  riches  without  the  responsibilities 
and  many  of  the  pleasures  of  the  family-circle  with- 
out the  cares. 

It  seems  to  me  such  a  beautiful  use  to  make  of 
riches.  The  holy  man's  presence  must  make  their 
house  like  a  temple  ;  and  when  the  dear  aged  form 
has  passed  away,  I  think  they  will  find  that  the 
garden-walks,  where  he  used  to  converse  with  them, 
and  the  trees  under  which  he  used  to  sit,  and  the 
flowers  he  enjoyed,  v/ill  have  something  of  the  fra- 
grance of  Eden  left  on  them. 

60  they  TiaDe  their  reward;  yet  not  all  of  it. 
There  will  be  more  to  come  when  they  see  our  Lord, 
and  He  will  thank  them  for  taking  care  of  His 
servants. 

Dr.  Watts  writes  such  beautiful  hymns.  They 
have  not  the  long  winding  music  of  John  Milton's 
hymn  on  the  "  Nativity,"  or  Bishop  Taylor's  in  the 
"  Golden  Grove ;"  but  they  have  a  point  and  sweet- 
ness about  them  which  I  like  as  much,  especially 
when  one  thinks  that  the  very  best  thing  in  what 
they  sing  of  is  that  it  is  tnie^  for  ever  true. 

They  sang  one  at  the  chapel  on  Sunday,  which  I 
shall  never  forget : — 

7 


M  TEE  DIARY  OF 

"When  I  survey  the  "wondrous  cross 
On  which  the  Prince  of  Glory  died. 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss. 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

**  Forbid  it,  Lord,  that  I  should  boast, 
Save  in  the  death  of  Christ,  my  God  I 
All  the  vain  things  that  charm  me  most 
I  sacrifice  them  to  his  blood. 

*'  See,  from  his  head,  his  hands,  his  feet, 
Sorrow  and  care  flow  mingled  down; 
Did  e'er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet. 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  ? 

"  Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine. 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small ; 
Love  so  amazing,  so  divine, 
Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all.'* 

It  mado  the  chapel  seem  as  beautiful  to  me  as  any 
cathedral  while  they  sang  it,  because  one  seemed  to 
look  through  it  straight  into  heaven,  where  our 
Lord  is.  And  anything  which  helps  us  to  do  that 
makes  it  matter  so  little  whether  what  we  look 
through  is  a  white-washed  ceiling  or  a  dome  like 
St.  Paul's.  And  then  the  comfort  is,  the  poor  can 
understand  it  as  well  as  the  most  learned. 

While  we  were  at  Abney  Park,  a  consumptive- 
looking  minister  from  Northampton  was  there,  a 
great  friend  of  Dr.  Watts.  Lady  Abney  had  just 
brought  him  from  London  in  her  coach,  a  gentle, 
thoughtful-looking  man  called  Dr.  Doddridge.  He 
also  writes  beautiful  hymns,  they  say.  Lady  Abney 
told  me  he  has  a  dear  little  girl  who  wus  once 
asked  why  every  one  loved  her  ?  She  looked  very 
thoughtful  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  I  suppose 
because  I  love  every  one." 

To-morrow  I  am  to  leave  Aunt  Henderson  to  stay 


MliS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN'.  75 

witli  Aunt  Beaucliamp  at  the  West  End  of  the  town, 
in  Great  Ormond  Street.  I  am  afraid  Tom  has  not 
made  any  confession  to  his  mother  yet.  But  he  has 
promised  to  try  and  hear  Mr.  Wesley,  and  to  go  often 
to  Jeanie. 

Aunt  Henderson  has  been  talking  to  me  very 
seriously  about  the  danger's  to  which  I  shall  be 
exposed.  She  says  poor  Aunt  Beauchamp's  is  a 
thoroughly  careless  family,  and  they  live  quite  in 
"  the  world." 

Does  "  the  world  "  then  begin  somewhere  between 
Hackney  and  Great  Ormond  Street  ? 

Mother  seemed  to  think  I  should  meet  it  as  soon 
as  I  left  home. 

And  the  Catechism  speaks  of  our  having  to  re- 
nounce it  from  infancy,  like  the  flesh  and  the  Devil. 

If  we  have  always  to  be  renouncing  it,  it  must  be 
tliere^  everywhere,  alw^ays  ;  one  thiog  to  Mother, 
another  to  Aunt  Henderson,  another  to  Cousin  Tom, 
or  Aunt  Beaucliamp  ;  one  thing  to  me  when  I  was  a 
child,  another  to  me  now — yet  always  there,  always 
to  be  renounced. 

What  is  it  then  ?  St.  John  says,  "  It  is  not  of  the 
Father." 

Does  it  mean  whatever  gift  of  God  we  make  a 
pedestal  for  our  pride,  instead  of  making  of  it  a  step 
of  God's  throne  on  w^hich  to  kneel  and  look  up,  and 
adore  ? 


m. 

Great  Obmono  Street 

PHEY  were  all  so  kind  to  me  when  I  left  Hack- 
ney, I  felt  very  sorry  to  go,  and  should  have 
grieved  more,  had  not  the  leave-taking  been 
like  a  half-way  house  on  the"  journey  to  my  dear 
home. 

Uncle  Henderson  gave  me  a  purse  with  five  new 
guineas  in  it,  saying  some  people  had  found  a  for- 
tune grow  from  no  bigger  beginning,  and  who  knew 
but  my  guineas  might  expand  into  a  "  plum  "  (a  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds).  I  do  not  very  well  see  how, 
because  I  have  spent  the  whole  over  ten  times  in 
my  mind  already ;  but  I  know  it  will  bring  me  in 
pleasures  as  rich  to  me  as  anything  Uncle  Henderson 
could  desire  for  me,  if  I  can  only  tell  which  of  the 
ten  plans  I  have  thought  of  is  the  best. 

Aunt  Henderson  gave  me  a  little  book  with  a  very 
long  name,  which  she  hoped  would  prove,  at  all 
events,  more  profitable  reading  than  Bishop  Taylor. 
Cousin  Tom  had  relapsed  into  something  of  the  shy, 
half-surly  manner  he  had  when  first  I  came  ;  and  liis 
great  eyes  were  flashing,  and  his  voice  was  very 
gruff.  But  just  as  I  was  getting  into  the  hackney 
coach,  he  said  abruptly,  "  Cousin  Kitty,  forgive  mo 
If  I  spoke  roughly  to  you  ;  you  have  been  very  good 
to  me ;    and  some  day  perhaps  I  will   hear  Mr. 


3[RS,  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  77 

Wesley."  Aunt  Jeanie  to  wliom  I  paid  a  visit  early 
in  the  morning,  gave  me  nothing — at  least  nothing 
gold  and  silver  can  buy  or  pay  for ;  but,  like  the 
Apostles,  such  as  she  had  she  gave  me  abundantly. 
There  were  tears  in  her  dear,  kind  eyes,  and  she 
called  me  her  poor  lambie,  and  fell  very  deep  into 
Scotch,  and  prayed  that  the  good  Lord  would  keep 
me  through  all  the  perils  of  the  wilderness  ;  "  for  the 
world  was  a  wilderness,  no  doubt,  and  temptation 
was  strong.  The  Lord  forgive  her  if  it  was  like 
murmuring  to  say  so,  she  had  found  so  many  pleas- 
ant places  on  her  way ;  and  all  the  way  had  been 
good  to  her ;  and  every  thorn  needful ;  and  the 
waste  places  as  wholesome  as  the  Elims ;  the  water 
from  the  rock  sweeter  even  than  the  foundations 
under  the  palms.  And  how  can  I  dare  be  so  un- 
grateful as  to  distrust  my  God  for  thee,  my  bairn  ?" 
she  added.  "  If  I  am  old  and  tough,  and  able  to 
bear  a  prick  now  and  then  without  shrinking,  and 
thou  art  young  and  tender,  and  quick  to  feel,  does 
not  He  who  gathered  the  lambs  in  His  bosom  know 
that  better  than  I  ?" 

So  we  cried  together  a  little  while,  and  then 
she  knelt  down  with  me  for  the  first  time  by  her 
bedside,  and  poured  out  her  heart  for  me  in  tender, 
pleading  words,  that  melted  all  my  heart  as  ice  melts 
in  the  spring  sunshine  and  rain. 

What  she  said  I  cannot  remember.  It  was  not 
like  words.  It  w^as  like  a  heart  poured  out  into  a 
heart — a  child-like,  dependent  human  heart  into  the 
great,  infinite,  tender  heart  of  God.  But  when  she 
rose  and  kissed  me,  and  bade  me  farewell,  all  my 
heart,  which  had  been  so  touched  and  -melted,  seemed 
to  have  grown  strong  and  buoyant.  It  seemed  as  if 
7^ 


^8  THE  DIARY  OF 

every  burden  became  ligbt,  and  every  task  easy,  ana 
every  grief  illmninated  in  the  light  and  heat  of  that 
prayer. 

When  I  reached  Great  Orniond  Street,  the  butler 
said  my  lady  was  still  in  her  chamber,  but  had 
directed  that  I  should  be  shown  up  to  her  at  once. 
I  thought  this  very  affectionate  of  Aunt  Beauchamp, 
and  stepped  very  softly,  as  when  Mother  has  a  head- 
ache, expecting  to  enter  a  sick-chamber. 

But,  to  my  surprise,  Aunt  Beauchamp  was  sitting 
at  her  toilette,  in  a  wrapper  more  magnificent  than 
Aunt  Henderson's  Sunday  silk.  And  the  chamber 
was  much  more  magnificent  than  the  best  parlor  at 
Hackney,  with  a  carpet  soft  as  velvet,  and  all  kinds 
of  china  monsters,  on  gilded  brackets,  and  rich 
damask  chairs  and  cushions ;  not  stiffly  set  up,  like 
Aunt  Henderson's,  as  if  it  was  the  business  of  life  to 
keej)  them  in  order,  but  throTVTi  lavishly  about,  as  if 
by  accident,  like  the  mere  overflow  of  some  fairy 
hom  of  plenty.  Two  very  elaborately  dressed  gen- 
tlemen were  sitting  op]Dosite  her;  what  seemed  to 
me  a  beautifully  dressed  lady  was  arranging  her  hair 
in  countless  small  curls;  while  a  shapeless  white 
l^oodle  was  curled  up  in  her  lap  ;  and  a  black  i)age 
was  standing  in  the  background,  feeding  a  chattering 
parrot. 

It  startled  me  very  much ;  but  Aunt  Beauchamp, 
after  suiTcying  me  rather  critically  as  I  made  a  pro- 
found courtesy,  held  out  two  fingers  for  me  to  kiss, 
and  patting  me  on  the  cheek,  said,  "As  rosy  as  ever, 
Kitty;  the  roses  in  your  cheeks  must  make  up  for 
the  russet  in  your  gown.    A  little  country  cousin  of 


MJiS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK,  79 

mine,"  she  said,  introducing  me  in  a  kind  of  paren- 
thetical way  to  the  gentlemen  in  laced  coats. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  looked  at  me  through  an 
eye-glass,  as  if  I  had  been  a  long  way  off,  which 
made  me  indignant,  and  took  away  my  shyness.  The 
other,  in  a  sky-blue  coat,  who  seemed  to  me  rather 
old,  rose,  and  with  an  elaborate  bow  offered  me  a 
chair,  and  hoped  it  would  be  long  before  I  withdrew 
the  light  of  my  presence  again  from  the  town.  "  The 
planets,"  he  observed,  looking  at  Aimt  Beauchamp, 
"  naturally  gathered  around  the  sun." 

Aunt  Beauchamp  gave  a  little  girlish  laugh,  tap- 
ping him  lightly  with  her  fan,  called  him  a  "  mad 
fellow,"  and  bade  me  go  and  seek  my  Cousin 
Evelyn. 

It  seemed  to  me  very  strange  to  see  these  elderly 
people  amusing  themselves  in  this  way,  like  old- 
fashioned  children.  Aunt  Beauchamp  is  much  older 
than  Mother.  I  should  think  she  must  be  five-and- 
forty.  And  the  old  gentleman's  face  looked  so  sharp 
and  wrinkled  under  his  flaxen  wig.  And  I  could  not 
izelp  noticing  how  close  he  kept  his  lips  together 
wUen  he  smiled,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  show  his 
iceth.     He  must  be  more  than  fifty. 

I  felt  so  sorry  Aunt  Beauchamp  let  her  maid  put 
those  cheriy-colored  ribbons  in  her  hair.  They  made 
her  face  look  so  much  older  and  more  lined.  And  it 
is  a  dear,  kind  old  face,  too.  She  looked  almost  like 
Father  when  she  patted  my  cheek.  Father  says  she 
was  very  beautiful  when  she  was  young.  I  suppose 
it  must  be  sad  to  give  up  being  beautiful.  Yet  it 
seems  to  me  every  age  has  its  own  beauty.  White 
hairs  are  as  beautiful  at  seventy  as  golden  locks  at 
twenty.    It  is  only  by  trying  to  prolong  the  beauty 


80  THE  DTAR  Y  OF 

of  one  stage  into  another  that  the  b'jauty  of  both  is 
lost. 

I  hope  I  shall  know  when  I  am  ave-and-forty,  and 
not  go  on  forgetting  I  am  growing  old,  while  every 
one  else  sees  it. 

I  am  resolved  that  on  all  my  birthdays  I  will  say 
to  myself,  "  Now,  Kitty,  remember  you  are  eighteen, 
nineteen,  twenty."  And  in  that  way  I  think  old  age 
cannot  take  me  by  surprise. 

I  found  Cousin  Evelyn  in  dishabille,  not  elaborate, 
but  real,  in  her  room,  one  hand  holding  a  novel  which 
she  was  reading,  the  other  stroking  the  head  of  a 
great  stag-hound  which  stood  with  his  paws  on  her 
knee,  while  her  maid  was  smoothing  out  her  beauti- 
ful long  hair. 

Her  greeting  was  not  very  cordial ;  it  was  kind, 
but  her  large  penetrating  eyes  kept  investigating  me 
as  they  had  on  our  journey  from  Bath.  Having  fin- 
ished her  toilette  and  dismissed  her  maid,  she  said, 
"  What  made  you  stay  so  long  at  Hackney  ?  Did  you 
not  find  it  very  dull  ?" 

It  had  never  occurred  to  me  whether  it  was  dull 
or  not,  and  I  had  to  question  myself  before  I  could 
answer. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  what  you 
think,"  she  said.  "  Mamma  thinks  Aunt  Henderson 
a  self-satisfied  Pharisee  ;  and  Aunt  Henderson  thinks 
us  all  publicans  and  sinners ;  so  there  is  not  much 
communication  between  the  families.  Besides,  I  sup- 
pose you  know  that  the  distance  between  America 
and  England  is  nothing  to  that  between  the  east 
and  the  west  of  London ;  so  that,  if  we  wished  it 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  81 

ever  so  mucli,  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  meet 
often." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  you  anything,  Cousin 
Evelyn,"  I  said ;  ''  but  I  never  thought  very  much  if 
it  was  dull.  It  was  of  no  use.  I  had  to  be  there ;  and 
although,  of  course,  it  could  not  be  like  home,  they 
were  all  very  kind  to  me,  especially  Cousin  Tom  and 
Aunt  Jeanie." 

"  And  now  you  have  to  le  liere^''  she  replied ;  "  and 
I  suppose  you  will  not  think  whether  it  is  dull 
or  not,  but  still  go  on  enduring  your  fate  like  a 
martyr." 

"  I  am  not  a  martyr,"  I  said ;.  "  but  you  know  it  is 
impossible  to  feel  anywhere  quite  as  one  does  at 
home."  And  I  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  back 
the  tears,  her  manner  seemed  to  me  so  abrupt  and 
unjust. 

Then  suddenly  her  tone  changed.  She  rose,  and 
seating  herself  on  a  footstool  at  my  feet,  took  one  of 
my  hands  in  both  of  hers,  and  said,  "  You  must  not 
mind  me.  I  think  I  shall  like  you.  And  I  always 
say  what  I  like.  I  am  only  a  child,  you  see,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  curl  of  her  lip.  "  Mamma  will 
never  be  more  than  thirty ;  therefore,  of  course,  I  can 
never  be  more  than  ten." 

I  could  not  help  coloring,  to  hear  her  speak  so  of 
her  mother ;  and  yet  I  could  not  tell  how  to  contra- 
dict her. 

She  always  saw  in  a  moment  what  one  does  not 
like,  and  she  turned  the  subject,  saying  very  gently, 
"  Tell  me  about  your  home.  I  should  like  to  hear 
about  it.    You  seem  so  fond  of  it." 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  nothing  to  tell. 
Every  one  and  everything  at  home  are  naturally  so 


0»  THE  DIARY  OF 

bound  up  with  my  heart,  that  to  talk  of  it  seemed 
like  taking  up  a  bit  of  myself  and  looking  at  it. 

But  Evelyn  drew  me  on,  from  one  thing  to  another, 
until  it  seemed  as  if,  having  once  begun,  I  could 
never  finish.  She  listened  like  a  child  to  a  new 
faiiy  tale,  leaning  her  face  on  her  hands,  and  gazing 
on  me  with  her  questioning  eyes  quite  eagerly, 
only  saying  when  I  paused,  "  Go  on — and  what 
then  V 

When  I  spoke  of  Mother,  a  tender,  wistful  look 
came  over  her  face,  and  for  the  first  time  I  saw  how 
beautiful  and  soft  her  eyes  were.  That  expression, 
however,  quickly  passed,  and  when  at  length  I  came 
to  a  long  pause,  she  said,  smiling,  "  I  am  glad  your 
Trusty  is  a  genuine,  uncompromising  old  sheep- 
dog. I  hate  poodles."  And  then  she  added  in  her 
old  dry  tone :  "  It  is  as  good  as  a  jDastoral,  and  as 
amusing  as  a  novel.  When  we  go  back  to  Beau- 
champ  Manor,  I  will  ask  papa  to  build  me  a  model 
dairy,  and  will  commence  an  Arcadian  life.  It  would 
be  charming." 

"  But,"  I  said,  bewildered  at  her  seeming  to  think 
of  me  and  Mother  and  Betty  as  if  we  were  a  jDeople  in 
a  poem,  "  your  dairy  would  be  mere  play ;  and  I  can- 
not see  any  amusement  in  that,  except  for  children. 
It  is  the  thought  that  I  ouglit  to  do  these  things — 
that  the  comfort  of  those  about  me  depends  on  my 
doing  them — that  makes  me  so  happy  in  them." 

"The  thought  that  you.  ought P^  she  said; — "that 
is  a  word  no  one  understands  here.  We  do  what  we 
Wee  and  what  wo  mtcst  If  I  thought  I  ought  to  go 
to  the  opera  or  to  Vauxhall,  I  should  dislike  it  as 
much  as  going  to  church." 

"As  going  to  church !"  I  said.  , 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  83 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "I  mean  at  Beaucliamp 
Manor,  wliere  Dr.  Humden  reads  long  sermons  some 
dead  bishop  wrote  centuries  ago,  in  a  voice  which 
sounds  as  dead  and  stony  as  if  it  came  from  the  effi- 
gies of  all  the  Beauchamps  which  preside  over  the 
church.  In  towTi  it  is  diflfercnt.  The  archdeacon 
never  preaches  half  an  hour,  and  that  in  the  softest 
voice,  and  most  elegant  language — very  little  duller 
than  the  dullest  papers  of  the  Sjjectator  or  the  Taller, 
And  then,  one  sees  every  one ;  and  the  performances 
of  the  congregation  are  as  good  as  a  play." 

Evelyn  next  gave  herself,  with  real  interest,  to  the 
inspection  of  my  wardrobe. 

It  seemed  almost  like  sacrilege  to  see  the  things 
which  had  cost  mother  so  much  thought  and  pains 
treated  with  the  imperfectly  concealed  contempt, 
which  curled  my  cousin's  lips  as  she  unfolded  one 
carefully  packed  article  after  another.  My  best  Sun- 
day bonnet  brought  a  very  comical  twist  into  her 
face ;  but  the  worst  of  all  was  when  I  unpinned  my 
very  best  new  dress,  which  had  been  constructed 
with  infinite  contrivance  out  of  Mother's  wedding- 
dress.  Evelyn's  polite  self-restraint  gave  way,  and 
she  laughed.  It  was  very  seldom  she  gave  any  token 
of  being  amused,  beyond  a  dry,  comical  smile ;  and 
now  her  rare,  ringing  laugh  seemed  to  discompose 
Dragon,  the  stag-hound,  as  much  as  it  did  me.  He 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  being  laughed  at — a  disre- 
spect no  dog  can  ever  endure — and  came  forward  and 
rubbed  his  nose  reproachfully  under  my  cousin's 
hand,  with  a  little  deprecatory  moan,  as  she  held  up 
the  dress. 

She  gave  him  a  parenthetical  pat,  and  then  looking 


84  THE  DIARY  OF 

up  in  my  face,  I  suppose  saw  the  foolish  tears  tliat 
would  gather  in  my  eyes. 

"  You  and  Dragon  seem  aggrieved,"  she  said.  *'  I 
am  afraid  I  have  touched  on  sacred  ground,  Cousin 
Kitty.     You  seem  very  fond  of  your  things." 

"  It  is  not  the  things,"  I  said ;  *'  but  Mother  and 
all  of  us  thought  they  were  so  nice ;  and  Miss  Pawsey 
from  Truro  does  go  to  London  once  in  every  three  or 
four  years ;  and,  besides,  she  has  a  Book  of  Fashions, 
mth  colored  illustrations." 

I  could  not  tell  her  it  was  Mother's  wedding-dress. 
Rich  people,  who  can  buy  everything  they  want  im- 
mediately they  want  it,  at  any  shop,  and  throw  it 
aside  when  they  get  tired,  can  have  no  idea  of  the  lit- 
tle loving  sacrifices,  the  tender  plannings,  the  self-de- 
nials, the  willing  toils,  the  tearful  pleasures,  that  are 
LQterwoven  into  the  household  possessions  of  the 
poor.  To  Evelyn  my  wardrobe  was  a  bad  copy  of 
the  fashions ; — to  me  every  bit  of  it  was  a  bit  of 
Jwme^  sacred  with  Mother's  thoughts,  contriving  for 
me  night  and  day,  with  the  touch  of  her  busy  fingers 
working  for  me,  with  the  quiet  delight  in  her  eyes  as 
she  surveyed  me  at  last  arrayed  in  them,  and  smoothed 
down  the  folds  with  her  delicate  neat  hands,  and  then 
contemplated  me  from  a  distance  with  a  combination  of 
the  satisfaction  of  a  mother  in  her  child  and  an  artist 
in  his  finished  work.  I  could  not  say  all  this  with  a 
steady  voice,  so  I  fell  back  on  the  defence  of  Miss 
Pawsey ;  but  she  only  laughed,  and  said, — 

*'  Do  you  know  that  three  years  old  is  worse  than 
three  centuries  ?  It  is  all  the  difierence  between  anti- 
quated and  antique.  You  would  look  a  great  deal 
more  modern  in  a  ruff  aiid  fardingale  of  one  of  our 
great-great-grandmothers  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  days, 


3IBS.  KITTY  TREYYLIAN.  85 

Indeed,  I  have  no  doubt  if  I  could  see  Aunt  Trevylyan 
at  this  moment,  I  should  think  her  quite  in  fashion 
compared  with  those  exactly  out-of-date  productions 
of  your  Falmouth  oracle.  We  must  send  for  my 
milliner." 

"  But  Mother  thought  it  so  nice,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I 
said  at  length ;  "  I  could  not  bear  to  have  what  she 
took  such  pains  with  pulled  to  pieces." 

She  looked  up  .at  me  again  with  the  soft,  wistful 
look  in  her  eyes,  folded  the  precious  dress  together 
as  reverently  as  I  could  have  done,  and,  laying  it  in 
the  trunk,  said  very  gently, — 

"Do  not  think  any  more  about  it,  Cousin  Kitty. 
I  will  manage  it  all." 

I  have  been  to  the  opera  and  the  church,  and  I 
cannot  wonder  so  much  at  Cousin  Evelyn  comparing 
the  two. 

The  gloom  of  the  Hackney  Sundays  seems  cheerful- 
ness itself  compared  to  the  dreary  week-day  glare  of 
these.  At  the  opera  the  music  was  as  beautiful  as 
songs  in  the  woods  on  a  spring  morning :  it  was  com- 
posed by  a  young  Saxon  gentleman — ^IMr.  Handel.  It 
was  very  strange  to  me  that  the  people  attended  so 
little.  Aunt  Beauchamp  had  quite  a  little  court  of 
middle-aged  and  elderly  gentlemen,  to  whom  she 
dispensed  gracious  smiles,  or  frowns,  which  seemed 
in  their  way  as  welcome ;  pretty  severities  with  her 
fan,  and  laughing  rebukes ;  and  whenever  I  looked 
about  between  the  acts,  the  same  small  entertain- 
ments seemed  going  on  in  the  boxes  around  me. 
When  the  music  went  on  I  could  see  and  hear  nothing 
else. 

Evelyn  1  aughed  at  me  when  we  returned.  I  actually 
8 


86  THE  DIARY  OF 

was  SO  unsophisticated,  she  said,  as  to  go  to  the  opera 
to  enjoy  the  music. 

"  What  can  any  one  go  for  else  ?"  I  asked.  **  It  is 
not  a  duty." 

"  For  the  same  reason  we  go  to  church,  or  anywhere 
else,"  she  replied, — "  to  meet  our  fellow-creatures,  to 
play  over  our  play,  or  see  them  act  theirs.  I  could 
have  told  you  of  three  separate  dramas  going  on  in 
the  boxes  nearest  us,  one  at  least  of.  which  is  likely  to 
rise  into  tragedy. — You  liked  the  music  then  ?" 

"  It  w^as  as  beautiful  as  a  dream,"  I  said ;  "  only  I 
wished  sometimes  it  was  a  dream." 

"Why?" 

"  I  felt  sorry  for  that  modest,  gentle-looking  young 
woman  having  to  talk  so  much  nonsense  in  public. 
I  think  she  could  hardly  have  felt  it  right." 

"  You  bring  right  and  wrong  into  everything.  You 
must  not  think  of  the  actors  as  men  and  women,  but 
as  merely  machines." 

At  church  it  seemed  to  me  very  much  the  same. 
Aunt  Beauchamp  encountered  many  of  her  little 
court,  and  distributed  her  nods  and  smiles  and  her 
deprecatory  glances,  as  at  the  play. 

During  the  Psalms  people  made  profound  courte- 
sies to  their  neighbors  in  the  next  pews  ;  and  during 
the  Litany  there  was  a  general  fluttering  of  fans  and 
application  of  smelling-bottles,  as  if  the  confessing 
ourselves  miserable  sinners  w^ere  too  much  for  the 
nerves  of  the  congregation.  But  then  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  was  as  careless  as  any  one,  or  I  should 
have  known  nothing  of  what  the  rest  of  the  congre- 
gation were  about ;  and  it  was  a  comfort  to  confess 
it  in  the  words  of  the  Litany.    Afterwards  I  stood 


MliS.  KITTY  TEETYLYAN-.  87 

up,  and  was  beginning  to  join  with  all  my  heart  in 
the  Psalm,  when  Evelyn  tapped  me  lightly,  and  said, 
"  IS'o  one  sings  buf  the  professional  choir."  Then  I 
saw  that  several  people  were  looking  at  me  with  con- 
siderable amusement,  and  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  own 
voice,  and  then  felt  ashamed  of  being  ashamed. 

The  sermon  was  on  the  impropriety  of  being  right- 
eous overmuch ;  and  every  one  said,  as  they  met  and 
exchanged  greetings  in  the  porch  that  it  was  a  most 
elegant  and  able  discourse.  It  was  a  pity  some  of 
the  Methodist  fanatics  could  not  hear  it.  Afterwards 
many  important  arrangements  w^ere  made  as  to  card- 
parties  and  balls  for  the  ensuing  week,  or  for  Sunday 
evening  itself. 

On  our  way  home  Aunt  Beauchamp  said  to  me. 
*'My  dear  child,  you  really  must  not  say  the  responses 
so  emphatically,  especially  those  about  our  being 
miserable  sinners.  People  will  think  you  have  done 
something  really  very  wrong,  instead  of  being  a  sin- 
ner in  a  general  way,  as,  of  course,  we  all  must  ex- 
pect to  be." 

One  thing  that  made  me  feel  strange  in  Aunt 
Beauchamp's  church  is  its  looking  so  different  from 
the  church  at  home.  I  cannot  help  liking  the  great 
stone  pillars,  and  the  arched  roof,  and  the  fretwork 
of  the  high  windows,  with  bits  of  stained  glass  still 
left  in  them,  better  than  this  new  church,  with  its 
carpeted  passages,  and  cushioned  galleries,  and 
painted  wooden  pillars,  and  flat  ceiling.  The  music, 
and  even  the  common  speech  in  response  and  prayers, 
seem  in  some  way  mellowed  and  made  sacred  as  they 
echo  and  wind  among  the  old  arches  and  up  the  roof, 
which  seems  more  like  the  sky. 

But  Cousin  Evelyn  says  my  taste  would  be  deemed 


bo  THE  DIARY  OF 

perfectly  monstrous — that  these  old  country  churches 
are  remnants  of  the  dark  ages,  quite  Gothic  and  bar- 
barous, and  that  in  time,  it  is  hoped,  they  will  be 
replaced  tl:roughout  England  by  buildings  in  the 
Greek  and  Roman  style,  or  by  that  classic  adapta- 
tion of  both  which  is  so  elaborately  developed  in  the 
ornamental  pulpit  and  sounding-board  of  the  church 
we  attend. 

And  then  Aunt  Beauchamp  says  some  of  the  wood- 
work is  of  that  costly,  new,  fashionable  wood  called 
mahogany,  so  that  it  admits  of  no  comparison  with 
the  rough  attempts  of  less  civilized  ages. 

I  wonder  if  there  are  fashions  in  architecture  as 
well  as  in  dress — only  counting  their  dates  by  centu- 
ries instead  of  by  years.  It  would  be  strange  if  these 
old  churches  should  ever  be  admired  again,  like  the 
costumes  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  and  these  new 
buildings  be  ridiculed  as  antiquated,  like  Miss  Paw- 
Bey's  fashions ! 

I  should  be  glad  if  this  ha^Dpened !  The  poor  old 
Gothic  builders  seem  to  have  delighted  in  their  work, 
and  taken  such  pains  about  it,  as  if  they  were  guided 
by  thoughts  about  right  and  wrong  in  what  they 
did,  by  love  and  duty,  instead  of  just  by  fashion 
and  taste. 

There  seems  such  a  heavy  weight  of  emptiuess 
about  the  life  here.  The  rigidity  of  Aunt  Hender- 
son's laws  seems  to  me  liberty  compared  with  the 
endless  drifting  of  this  life  without  laws.  In  the 
morning  the  toilette,  with  the  levee  of  visitors,  the 
eager  discussions  about  the  color  of  head-dresses  and 
the  shape  of  hoops.  In  the  evening  a  number  of 
beautifully  dressf  I  people,  paying  elaborate  aompli- 


MRS.  KITTY  TliEVYLYAir.  89 

ments  to  their  present  acquaintances,  or  elaborately 
dissecting  the  characters  of  their  absent  acquaint- 
ances— the  only  groups  really  in  earnest  being  appar 
ently  those  around  the  card-tables,  who  not  unfre- 
quently  fall  into  something  very  like  quarrelling. 

This  kind  of  living  by  the  day  surely  cannot  be 
the  right  kind — this  filling  up  of  every  day  with 
trifles,  from  brim  to  brim,  as  if  every  day  were  a 
separate  life,  and  every  trifle  a  momentous  question. 

"When  our  Saviour  told  us  to  live  by  the  day,  He 
meant,  I  think,  a  day  encompassed  by  Eternity — a 
day  whose  yesterday  had  gone  up  to  God,  to  add  its 
little  record  to  the  long  unforgotten  histoiy  of  the 
past,  whose  to-morrow  may  take  us  uj)  to  God  our- 
selves. We  are  to  live  by  the  day,  not  as  butterflies, 
which  are  creatures  of  a  day,  but  as  mortal  yet  im- 
mortal beings  belonging  to  Eternity,  w^hose  mortal 
life  may  end  to-night,  whose  longest  life  is  but  an 
ephemeral  fragment  of  our  immortality. 

Evelyn  seems  very  much  aloof  from  the  world 
about  her.  In  society  sometimes  she  becomes  ani- 
mated, and  flashes  brilliant  sayings  on  all  sides.  But 
her  wit  is  mostly  satirical ;  the  point  is  too  often  in 
the  sting.  She  is  evidently  felt  as  a  power  in  her 
circle ;  ancl  her  power  arises  in  a  great  measure  from 
her  absence  of  ordinary  vanity.  She  does  not  care 
for  the  opinion  of  those  around  her;  and  whilst 
those  around  her  are  in  bondage  to  one  another  for  a 
morsel  of  praise  or  admiration,  she  sits  apart  on  a 
iribunal  of  her  own  making,  and  dispenses  her  judg- 
ments. 

At  present,  I  believe,  she  has  passed  sentence  on 
me  as  Pharisaical,  because  of  something  I  said  of  the 
new  oratorio  of  the  Messiah.  At  first  it  seemed  to 
8* 


90  THE  DIARY  OF 

me  more  heavenly  than  anything  I  had  ever  heard ; 
but  when  they  came  to  those  words  about  our  Lord's 
sorrows,  "  He  was  despised  and  rejected,  a  man  of 
sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief,"  and  around  us 
there  was,  not  a  hush  of  sham.e  and  penitence,  but  a 
little  buzz  of  applause,  suppressed  whispers,  such  as 
"  Charming !" — "  What  tone  !•' — *'  No  one  else  can 
sustain  that  note  in  such  a  way  I" — and  at  the  close 
the  audience  loudly  clapped  the  singer,  and  she 
responded  with  a  deep  theatrical  courtesy — I  thought 
oi'^^'Wlien  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross,'^^  wished  myself 
in  Dr.  Watts'  chapel,  and  felt  I  would  rather  have 
listened  to  any  poor  nasal  droning  which  was  wor- 
ship, than  to  such  mockery.  I  could  not  help 
crying. 

When  we  were  in  the  house  again,  Evelyn  said, — 

"  You  enjoyed  that  music,  Kitty." 

"No,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I  said;  "I  would  rather 
have  been  at  the  opera,  a  hundred  times,  and  far 
rather  in  Aunt  Henderson's  chapel  at  Hackney." 

"  Your  taste  is  original,  at  all  events,"  she  replied 
drily. 

"  To  think,"  I  said,  "  of  their  setting  the  great 
shame  and  agony  of  our  Saviour  to  music  for  an 
evening's  entertainment,  and  applauding  it  like  a 
play  I  One  might  as  well  make  a  play  about  the 
death-bed  of  a  mother.  For  it  is  true,  it  is  true  I  He 
did  suffer  all  that  for  us." 

She  looked  at  me  earnestly  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  she  said  coldly, — 

"  How  do  you  know,  Cousin  Kitty,  that  other 
people  were  not  feeling  it  as  much  as  you  ?  AYhat. 
right  have  we  to  set  down  every  one  as  profane  and 
heaitlcss  just  because  the  tears  do  not  come  at  every 


MRS.  KITTY   TllEYYLYAX.  91 

moment  to  tlie  surface.  The  Bible  says,  •  Judge  not, 
and  ye  shall  not  be  judged ;'  and  tells  us  not  to  be  in 
such  a  hurry  to  take  the  motes  out  of  other  people's 
eyes." 

I  was  quite  silenced.  It  is  so  difficul  fc  to  think  of 
the  right  thing  to  say  at  the  moment.  Afterwards  I 
thought  of  a  hundred  answers,  for  I  did  not  mean  to 
judge  any  one  unkindly.  I  only  spoke  of  my  own 
feelings.  But  Evelyn  has  retired  into  her  shell,  and 
evades  all  attempts  to  resume  the  subject. 

This  morning  at  breakfast  Cousin  Harry  (of  whom 
we  see  very  little)  spoke,  quite  as  an  ordinary  occur- 
rence, of  a  duel,  in  which  some  one  had  been  killed, 
in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  about  a  lady ;  and  of  an- 
other little  affair  of  the  same  kind  ending  in  the  flight 
of  a  lady  of  rank  to  the  Continent. 

I  asked  Evelyn  afterwards  what  it  meant. 

"  Only  that  some  one  ran  away  v^^ith  some  one  else's 
wife,  and  the  person  to  whom  the  wife  belonged  did 
not  like  it,  and  so  there  was  a  duel,  and  the  husband 
was  killed." 

"But,"  I  said,  "that  is  a  dreadful  sin.  Those 
are  things  spoken  of  in  the  Ten  Commandments." 

"  Sin,"  she  replied,  "  my  scriptiiral  cousin,  is  a 
word  not  in  use  in  polite  circles,  except  on  Sun- 
days, as  a  quotation  from  the  Prayer-Bouk.  We 
never  introduce  that  kind  of  phraseology  on  week 
days." 

"  Do  these  terrible  things  happen  often,  then  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Not  every  day,"  she  replied  drily.  "  The  next 
thing  you  will  be  thinldng  is,  that  you  have  lighted 
on  a  den  of  thieves.     A  great  many  people  only  play 


03  .     THE  DIARY  OF 

with  imitations  of  hearts  iu  ice.  For  instauce, 
mamma's  little  amusements  are  as  harmless  to  her- 
self and  all  concerned  as  the  innocent  gambols  ot 
a  kitten.  The  only  danger  in  that  kind  of  diver- 
sion," she  added  bitterly,  "is,  that  it  sometimes 
ends  in  the  real  heart  and  the  imitation  being  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  each  other. 

The  easy  and  polished  world  around  me  no  longei 
seems  to  me  empty  and  trifling,  but  terrible.  These 
icicles  of  pleasure  are,  then,  only  the  sparkling  crust 
over  an  abyss  of  passion,  and  wrong,  and  sin. 

There  is  excitement  and  interest  enough,  certainly, 
in  watching  this  drama,  if  one  knows  anything  of 
what  is  underneath, — the  same  kind  of  excitement 
as  in  watching  that  dreadful  rope-dancing  Cousin 
Harry  took  us  to  see  at  Yauxhall.  The  people  are 
dancing  at  the  risk  of  life,  and  more  than  life.  The 
least  loss  of  head  or  heart,  the  least  glancing  aside 
of  one  of  these  graceful  steps,  and  the  performers 
fall  into  depths  "one  shudders  to  think  of. 

I  tremble  when  I  think  of  it.  Dull  and  hard  as 
the  religion  seemed  to  me  at  Aunt  Henderson's,  it  is 
safety  and  purity  compared  with  this  wretched, 
cruel  levity,  this  dancing  on  the  ice,  beneath  which 
your  neighbors  are  sinking  and  struggling  in  agony. 

Religion  is  worth  something  as  a  safeguard,  even 
when  it  has  ceased  to  be  life  and  joy. 

The  sweet  hawthorn  which  makes  the  air  fragrant 
in  spring  is  still  something  in  winter,  although  it  be 
only  as  a  prickly  prohibitory  hedge. 

The  trees  which  were  a  home  of  happy  singing 
Dirds,  and  a  treasure  of  shade  and  refreshment  iu 
summer,  are  still  a  shelter  even  when  their  leafless 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  93 

branches  toss  and  crackle  in  the  fierce  winds  of 
December.  That  is,  as  long  as  there  is  any  life  in 
the  thorns,  or  the  trees,  or  the  religion. 

If  it  were  death  instead  of  only  winter  that  made 
the  trees  leafless,  they  would  soon  cease  to  be  a 
shelter  as  they  have  before  ceased  to  be  a  delight. 

Yesterday  I  had  a  letter  brought  me  by  Evelyn's 
maid,  written  on  perfumed  colored  paper. 

In  it  the  writer  ventured  to  call  me  in  poetry  a 
goddess,  and  a  star,  and  a  peerless  rose.  If  there 
had  been  only  that,  I  should  have  felt  nothing  but 
indignation;  for  I  do  believe  I  have  done  nothing 
to  deserve  such  nonsense  being  said  to  me. 

But  at  the  end  there  is  some  prose,  in  which  the 
writer  says  he  has  really  formed  a  devoted  attachment 
to  me,  and  he  seems  to  want  me  to  marry  him  at 
once,  for  he  talks  of  lawyers  and  settlements.  Cousin 
Evelyn  came  in  as  1  was  sitting  perplexing  myself 
what  I  ought  to  do.  She  laughed  at  my  distress, 
and  lold  me  she  could  show  me  a  drawer  full  of  such 
compositions. 

**  It  is  so  trying  to  have  to  make  any  one  really 
unhappy,"  I  said  ;  "  and  you  see  he  says  in  the  prose 
that  life  will  be  a  blank  to  him  if  I  cannot  give  him 
the  answer  he  wishes." 

"  Indeed  you  need  not  mind,"  she  said.  "  I  my- 
self have  broken  a  score  of  hearts  in  the  same  way, 
and  I  assure  you  no  one  would  know  it ;  they  do  as 
well  without  their  hearts.  They  are  like  the  x)oor 
gentleman  whom  Dante  discovered,  to  his  sui'prise, 
m  the  Inferno,  while  he  was  supposed  to  be  still 
alive.  A  devil  was  walking  about  in  his  body  while 
Ms  soul  was  in  torments ;  and  the  devil  and  the  soul 


94 


TUE  DIARY  OF 


were  so  much  alike  that  no  one  had  suspected  the 
change." 

"  I  had  never  anything  of  the  kind  to  do  before," 
I  said,  "  and  I  am  sorry.  The  prose  really  looks  as 
if  he  "would  care,  and  I  want  to  write  gently  but 
very  firmly.  I  wish  I  could  see  Mother."  But  then  I 
thought  how  Mother  had  always  told  me  of  the  one 
Refuge  in  every  difficulty,  and  I  said  softly,  hardly 
knowing  I  said  it  aloud,  *'  But  if  I  pray,  God  will 
help  me  to  do  what  is  right." 

*'  Pray  about  a  love  letter  !"  exclaimed  my  cousin, 
looking  nearly  as  much  shocked  as  I  had  felt  at  her 
calling  the  church  as  good  as  the  play.  "  Pray 
about  a  love  letter,  Cousin  Kitty  !  You  surely  would 
not  do  anything  so  profane." 

*'  Surely  I  may  pray  God  to  help  me  to  do  right," 
I  said,  "  about  everythuig.  Nothing  in  which  there 
seems  a  question  jf  right  or  wrong  can  be  out  of  His 
care." 

Evelyn  looked  at  me  once  more  with  her  wistful, 
soft  look,  and  said  very  gravely, — 

"  Kitty,  I  believe  you  really  do  believe  in  God." 

"  You  do  not  think  that  any  wonder  ?"  I  said. 

"  I  do^''  she  said  solemnly.  I  have  been  watchmg 
you  all  this  time,  and  I  am  sure  you  really  do 
believe  in  God ;  and  I  think  you  love  Him.  I  have 
never  met  any  one  who  did  since  my  old  nui*se 
died." 

"  Never  met  with  any  religious  person  I"  I  said. 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  she  replied.  *'  I  have  met 
with  plenty  of  religious  persons.  Uncle  and  Aunt 
Henderson,  and  several  ladies  who  almost  shed  tears 
over  their  cards,  while  talking  of  Mr.  Whitefield's 
*  heavenly  sermon,'  at  Lady  IIuutmgdon's—num])era 


Mils.   KITTY  TliEVYLYAir.  95 

Df  people  wlio  would  no  more  give  balls  in  Lent 
than  Aunt  Henderson  would  go  to  church.  I  have 
met  all  kinds  of  peoj)le  who  have  religious  seasons, 
and  religious  places,  and  religious  dislikes,  who 
would  religiously  pull  their  neighbors  to  pierces,  and 
thank  God  they  are  not  as  other  men.  At  the 
oratorio  I  thought  you  were  going  to  turn  out  just  a 
Pharisee  like  the  rest;  but  I  was  wrong.  Except 
you  and  my  old  nurse,  I  never  met  with  any  one 
who  believed,  not  in  religion,  but  in  God ;  not  now 
and  then,  but  always.  And  I  wish  I  were  like  either 
of  you." 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I  said,  "  you  must  not 
judge  people  so  severely.  How  can  we  know  what 
is  really  in  other  people's  hearts  ?  How  can  we 
know  what  humility  and  love  there  are  in  the  hearts 
Df  those  you  call  Pharisees;  how  they  weep  in 
secret  over  the  infirmities  you  despise ;  how  much 
they  have  to  overcome ;  how,  perhaps,  the  severity 
you  dislike  is  only  the  irritation  of  a  heart  strug- 
gling with  its  own  temptations  and  not  quite 
succeeding  ?  How  do  you  know  that  they  may  not 
be  praying  for  you  even  while  you  are  laughing  at 
them  ?" 

"  I  do  not  want  them  to  pray  for  me,"  she  replied 
fiercely.  "I  know  exactly  how  they  would  pray. 
They  would  tell  God  I  was  in  the  gall  of  bitter  uess 
and  in  the  bond  of  iniquity ;  they  would  thank  Him 
for  having,  by  His  distinguishing  mercy,  made  them 
to  differ ;  and  then  they  would  express  a  hope  that 
I  might  be  made  to  see  the  error  of  my  ways.  I 
know  they  would,  for  I  heard  two  religious  ladies 
once  talking  together  about  me.  One  asked  if  I  wav 
a  believer ;  and  the  other,  who  had  expressed  great 


96  TUE  DIARY  OF 

interest  in  me  and  sought  my  confidence,  said  she 
^  was  not  Tvithout  hope  of  me,  for  I  had  expressed 
great  disgust  at  the  world.  She  had  even  told 
Lady  Huntingdon  she  thought  I  might  be  won  to  the 
truth.  The  woman  had  actually  worked  herself  into 
my  confidence  by  pretended  sympathy,  just  to  gossip 
about  me  at  the  religious  tea-parties." 

I  endeavored  to  say  a  word  in  defence,  but  she 
exclaimed, — "  Cousin  Kitty,  if  I  thought  your  reli- 
gion would  make  you  commit  a  treachery  like  that, 
I  would  not  say  a  word  to  you.  But  you  have  never 
tried  to  penetrate  into  my  confidence,  nor  have  you 
betrayed  any  one  else's.  I  feel  I  can  trust  you.  I 
feel  if  you  say  you  care  for  me  you  mean  it ;  and 
you  love  me  as  me  myself^ — not  like  a  doctor,  as  a 
kind  of  interesting  religious  case.  Now,"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  gentler  tone,  "  I  am  not  at  all  happy, 
and  I  believe  if  I  loved  God  as  you  do  I  should  be. 
That  may  seem  to  you  a  very  poor  reason  for  wishing 
to  be  good,  but  it  does  seem  as  if  God  meant  us  to 
be  happy ;  and  I  have  been  trying,  but  I  don't  get 
on.  Indeed,  I  feel  as  if  I  got  worse.  I  have  tried 
to  confess  my  faults  to  God.  I  used  to  think  that 
it  must  be  easy,  but  the  more  I  try  the  harder  it  is. 
It  seems  as  if  one  never  could  get  to  the  bottom  of 
what  one  has  to  confess.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
faults^  censoriousness,  idleness,  hastiness,  I  come  to 
ains^  pride,  selfishness.  It  is  not  the  things  only  that 
are  wrong,  it  is  /  that  am  wrong, — I  myself, — and 
what  can  alter  me  ?  I  may  change  my  words  or  my 
actions,  but  who  is  to  change  ine  ?  Sometimes  I  feel 
a  longing  to  fall  into  a  long  sleep  and  wake  up  some- 
body else,  quite  new." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  the  thought  of  conversion, 


MRS.  KITTY   TREVYLYAN.  97 

W^hich  to  Cousin  Tom  had,  in  the  wrong  place, 
become  like  a  barrier  between  him  and  God,  Vv^ould 
to  Evelyn  be  the  very  thing  she  longed  for.  And  I 
said,  " '  except  ye  be  converted,  and  become  as  little 
children,  ye  cannot  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven.' 
It  is  we  that  must  be  converted,  changed,  and  not 
merely,  as  you  say,  our  actions — turned  quite  round 
from  sin  and  darkness  to  God  and  light." 

She  caught  at  the  words  "  a%  little  children^  She 
said,  "  Cousin  Kitty,  that  is  just  the  thing  I  should 
like — that  would  be  like  waking  up  quite  new.  But 
how  can  that  be  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "  that  it  must  be  like  the 
blind  man,  who,  believing  in  our  Lord's  words,  and 
looking  up  to  Him  sightless,  saw.  Looking  to  Him 
must  be  turning  to  Him,  and  turning  to  Him  must  be 
conversion." 

Then  we  agreed  that  we  both  had  much  to  learn, 
and  that  we  would  read  the  Bible  together. 

Since  then  we  have  read  the  Bible  veiy  often  to- 
gether, Evelyn  and  I.  But  her  anxiety  and  uneasi- 
ness seem  to  increase.  She  says  the  Bible  is  so  full  of 
God,  not  only  as  a  King,  whose  audience  must  be 
attended  on  Sundays,  or  a  Judge  at  a  distance  record- 
ing our  sins  to  weigh  them  at  the  last  day,  but  as  a 
Father  near  us  always,  having  a  right  to  our  tender- 
est  love  as  well  as  our  deepest  reverence. 

"  And  I,"  she  says,  "  am  far  from  loving  Him  best 
— ^have  scarcely  all  my  life  done  anything,  or  given 
up  anything,  to  please  Him." 

I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could.    I  told  her  she 

must  not  think  so  much  of  her  loving  God  as  of  Hi^ 

lovhig  her ; — loving  us  on  through  all  our  ingratitude 

and  foolishness.     We  read  together  of  the  Cross — of 

9 


98  THE  DIARY  OF 

Him  who  bore  our  sins  there  in  His  owti  body,  and 
bore  them  away. 

I  cannot  but  think  this  is  the  true  balm  for  my 
cousin's  distress ;  it  always  restores  and  cheers  me — 
and  yet  she  is  not  comforted. 

It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  while  I  were  trying 
to  pour  in  consolation,  a  mightier  hand  than  mine 
gently  put  aside  the  balm,  and  made  the  very 
gracious  words  I  repeated  a  knife  to  probe  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  wound. 

And  then  I  can  only  wait,  and  wonder,  and  pray. 
It  does  seem  as  if  God  were  working  in  her  heart. 
She  is  so  much  gentler,  and  more  subdued.  And  the 
Bible  says  not  only  joy  and  peace,  but  gentleness,  is 
a  fruit  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

I  often  wish  Evelyn  were  only  as  free  as  the  old 
woman  who  sells  oranges  at  Aunt  Beauchamp's  door, 
or  the  little  boy  who  sweeps  the  crossings ;  for  tney 
may  go  where  they  like  and  hear  the  Methodist 
preachers  in  Moorfields  or  in  the  Foundery  Chapel. 
And  I  feel  as  if  Mr.  Wesley  or  Mr.  Whitefield  could 
help  my  cousin  as  I  cannot.  If  she  could  only  hear 
those  mighty,  melting  words  of  conviction  and  conso- 
lation I  saw  bringing  tears  down  the  colliers'  faces, 
or  holding  the  crowd  at  Moorfields  in  awe-stricken, 
breathless  attention  1 

My  wish  is  accomplished.  We  are  to  go  and  hear 
Mr.  Whitefield  speak  at  Lady  Huntingdon's  house  in 
Park  Street.     It  came  about  in  this  way : — 

A  lady  who  is  reported  to  have  lately  become  very 
religious  called  one  morning,  and  after  some  general 
conversation  began  to  speak  of  Mr.  Whitefield's  ad- 
dresses in  Lady  Huntingdon's  house.     She  strongly 


MUS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK,  99 

urged  my  aunt  and  cousin  to  go,  saying,  by  way  of 
inducement,  that  it  was  quite  a  select  assembly — no 
peoj)le  one  would  not  like  to  meet  were  invited,  Or, 
at  all  events,  if  such  people  came,  one  was  in  no  way 
mixed  up  with  them.  "  And  he  is  such  a  wonderful 
orator,"  she  said ;  "  no  common-place  fanatic,  I  assure 
you,  Evelyn.  His  discourses  are  quite  such  as  you 
would  admire,  quite  suited  to  people  of  the  highest 
intellectual  powers.  My  Lord  Bolingbroke  was  quite 
fascinated,  and  my  Lord  Chesterfield  himself  said  to 
Mr.  Whitefield  (in  his  elegant  way),  '  He  would  not 
say  to  him  what  he  would  say  to  every  one  else,  how 
much  he  approved  him.'  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Lord  Chesterfield  and  Lord 
Bolingbroke  were  considered  good  judges  of  a  ser- 
mom,"  said  Evelyn  drily. 

"  Of  the  doctrine — well,  that's  another  thing,"  said 
the  religious  lady ;  "  but  of  the  oratory  and  the  taste. 
Garrick,  the  great  actor,  says  that  his  tones  have  such 
power  that  he  can  make  his  hearers  weep  and  trem- 
ble merely  by  varying  his  pronunciation  of  the  word 
Mesopotamia;  and  many  clever  men,  not  at  all  re- 
ligious, say  they  would  as  soon  hear  him  as  the  best 
play." 

"  I  have  heard  many  services  which  seemed  to  me 
like  plays,"  said  Evelyn,  very  mischievously ;  "  and 
I  do  not  see  that  it  can  do  any  one's  soul  any  good  to 
be  made  weep  at  the  word  Mesopotamia." 

"  Oh,  if  we  speak  of  doing  real  good  to  the  soul," 
rejoined  the  visitor, — "  that  is  what  I  mean ;"  and  in 
a  tone  of  real  earnest  feeling  she  added,  "  I  never 
heard  any  one  speak  of  the  soul,  and  of  Christ,  and 
of  salvation  like  Mr.  Whitefield.  While  he  is  preach- 
ing I  can  never  think  of  anything  but  the  great  things 


iOO  TUE  DIARY  OF 

^3  is  speaking  of.  It  is  only  afterwaicls  one  reincm- 
bc."S  his  oratory  and  his  voice." 

And  it  was  agreed  that  we  should  go  to  Lady 
Huntingdon's  house  the  next  time  Mr.  Whitefield 
was  to  preach. 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  Evelyn  said  to  me  when  the 
lady  had  left,  "  what  things  religious  people  think 
will  influence  us  who  are  still  *  in  the  world  !'  What 
inducement  would  it  be  to  me  to  go  and  hear  a 
preacher,  if  Lord  Bolingbroke  and  Lord  Chesterfield, 
or  all  the  clever  and  sceptical  and  dissipated  noble- 
men in  England  liked  him,  and  were  no  better  for  it  ? 
They  try  to  tempt  us  to  hear  what  is  good,  by  saying 
the  congregation  is  fashionable,  or  that  clever  people 
are  captivated,  or  that  the  preacher  is  a  genius,  or 
an  orator,  or  a  man  of  the  world,  when  I  do  think 
the  most  worldly  people  care  more  for  the  religion  in 
a  sermon  than  for  anything  else,  and  would  be  more 
attracted  if  they  would  say,  *  We  want  you  to  hear 
that  preacher,  because  he  speaks  of  sin,  and  of  Christ, 
and  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins  in  a  way  no  one  else 
does.'  I  wonder,"  she  concluded,  after  a  pause,  with 
a  little  smile,  "  if  I  ever  should  become  really  religious, 
if  I  shall  do  the  same ;  if  I  shall  one  day  be  saying  to 
Harry,  '  You  must  hear  this  or  that  preacher ;  for  he  is 
a  better  judge  of  a  horse  than  any  jockey  you  know.'  " 

We  have  heard  Mr.  Whitefield. 

And  what  can  I  remember  ? 

Just  a  man  striving  with  his  whole  heart  and  soul 
to  win  lost  souls  out  of  a  perishing,  sorrowful  world 
to  Christ,  and  holiness,  and  joy. 

Just  the  conviction  poured  in  on  the  heart  by  an 
overwhelming  torrent  of  pleading,  warning,  tender, 


MJiS.  KITTY  TB^Vk'A-Juif.     ,'    ,  ^%^\ 

fervent  elotLuence,  that  Christ ,.  Je&lis  AK^  'V^^^,  Jcajfes  ; 
more  infinitely  to  win  and  save  lost  wandeiihg  feoulfe  ' 
than  man  himself — that  where  the  preacher  weeps 
and  entreats,  the  Saviour  died  and  saved. 

Yes,  it  is  done.  The  w^ork  of  salvation  is  done. 
"It  is  finished." 

I  never  understood  that  in  the  same  way  before. 

It  is  not  only  that  the  Lord  Jesus  loves  us,  yearns 
over  us,  entreats  us  not  to  perish.  He  has  saved  us. 
He  has  actually  taken  our  sins  and  blotted  them  out, 
washed  them  out  of  sight,  white,  whiter  than  snow, 
in  His  own  blood. 

It  is  not  only  that  He  pities.  He  saves.  He  has 
died.  He  has  redeemed.  The  hands  stretched  out 
to  save  are  those  that  paid  the  terrible  ransom.  He 
did  not  begin  to  j)ity  us  when  we  began  to  turn  to 
Him.  "When  we  were  without  strength,  He  died 
for  us,  ungodly." 

"  God  was  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  to  him- 
self, not  imputing  their  trespasses  unto  them." 

"  For  He  hath  made  him  to  be  sin  for  us  who  knew 
no  sin,  that  we  might  be  made  the  righteousness  of 
God  in  Him." 

I  never  understood  this  in  this  way  before ;  and 
yet  there  it  is,  and  always  has  been,  as  clear  as  day- 
light, in  page  after  page  of  the  Bible. 

All  the  way  home  Evelyn  said  nothing.  Aunt 
Beauchamp  was  the  only  one  who  spoke ;  and  she 
said  it  was  very  affecting  certainly ;  but  she  did  not 
see  there  was  anything  so  very  original.  It  was  all 
in  the  Prayer-Book  and  in  the  Bible. 

And  then,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  in  rather  a 
Belf-contradictory  way,  "  But  if  we  are  to  be  what  Mr. 
VThitefield  would  have  us,  we  might  as  well  all  go 


'i02,c'  ,    V     «   i/  '<Jt/I^  DIARY  OF 

;  i'i\t(^  cp^iveWis^at  oicf'.  He  really  speaks  as  if  people 
were  to  (id^notliifig  but  te "religious.  He  forgets  that 
some  of  us  have  other  duties." 

Then  she  took  refuge  in  her  vinaigrette,  and  said 
in  a  very  languid  voice,  "  My  darling  Evelyn  you  look 
quite  pale.  Much  more  excitement  of  this  kind  would 
make  us  both  quite  ill.  The  man  is  so  terribly  vehe- 
ment, he  makes  one  feel  as  if  one  were  in  peril  of  life 
and  death.  Such  preaching  may  do  for  people  with- 
out nerves,  but  it  would  soon  kill  me.  I  am  only 
too  glad  I  escaped  without  an  attack  of  hysterics. 
And,"  she  continued,  "  I  was  told  that  a  few  days  since 
Lady  Suffolk  was  there  by  invitation.  I  really  won- 
der a  person  of  Lady  Huntingdon's  character  should 
invite  such  people  to  her  house.  My  dear,"  concluded 
my  aunt,  "  I  do  not  think  the  thing  is  respectable, 
and  I  wonder  Lady  Mary  proposed  our  attending 
such  an  assembly.  Indeed,  I  wonder  at  myself  for 
consenting  to  go.  It  is  not  at  all  a  kind  of  place  for 
sound  church  people  to  be  seen  at.  I  would  not 
have  the  archdeacon  know  it  on  any  account ;  for  I 
am  sure  Dr.  Humden  would  think  I  had  been  out  of 
my  senses." 

And  soothed  with  so  many  restoratives,  ecclesiasti- 
cal, social,  and  medical.  Aunt  Beauchamp  relapsed 
into  her  usual  state  of  languor  and  self-content- 
ment. 

But  Evelyn  said  nothing.  Only  when  I  ventured 
some  hours  afterwards  to  knock  at  her  bed-room 
door,  she  opened  and  closed  it  in  silence,  and  then 
taking  both  my  hands,  said,  in  u  soft,  trembling 
voice,  "  Cousin  Kitty,  I  am  very  full  of  sin  1  I  really 
think  I  am  worse  than  any  one,  because,  being 
myself  so  wrong,  I   have    so  despised  every  or.e 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAK  108 

tiround  me.    I  have  been  a  Pharisee  and  a  publican 
all  in  one." 

And  then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  But  in  a  few  minutes  she  looked  up 
again  with  a  face  beaming  with  a  soft,  child-like, 
lowly  peace,  and  she  said,  "  But  Cousin  Kitty,  I  am 
happier  than  I  ever  thought  any  one  could  be.  For 
I  do  believe  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  died  for  my  sins, 
and  has  really  washed  them  away.  And  I  do  feel 
sure  God  loves  me,  even  me ;  and  I  think  He  really 
will  by  degrees  make  me  good — I  mean  humble,  and 
loving,  and  kind.  I  do  feel  so  at  Jiome^  Cousin  Kitty," 
she  added.  "  I  feel  as  I  had  come  back  to  the  very 
heart  of  my  Father — and  oh.  He  loves  me  so  tenderly, 
so  infinitely,  and  has  been  loving  me  so  long.  Yes, 
at  home,  and  at  rest,"  she  sobbed ;  at  home  everywhere^ 
and  for  ever,  and  for  ever^ 

The  next  morning  Evelyn  came  to  me  early,  pale, 
but  with  a  great  calm  on  her  frank,  expressive  face. 
"  Kitty,"  she  said,  *'  I  have  had  a  strange  night.  I 
could  not  sleep  at  all.  It  seemed  as  if  the  sins  of  all 
my  past  life  came  up  before  me  unbidden,  as  they 
say  the  whole  past  sometimes  comes  vividly  bacl:  to 
a  drowning  man.  I  saw  the  good  I  had  left  undone, 
the  evil  I  had  said  and  done,  and  the  pride  and  self- 
ishness at  the  bottom  of  all.  And  almost  more  than 
anything,  I  felt  how  unkind,  and  even  unjust  I  had 
been  to  mamma;  how  ungenerous  in  not  veiling 
many  of  her  little  infirmities ;  for  I  know  she  loves 
papa  and  Harry  and  me  really  better  than  all  else  in . 
the  world.  I  felt  I  must  come  with  the  first  light 
and  confess  this  to  you.  For  one  night  came  back 
to  me,  Kitty,  years  and  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  little 
child.     Harry  and  I  had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  I  saw 


104  THE  DIARY  OF 

before  mc,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  my  mother's  pa^e 
tender  face,  as  she  moved  from  one  little  bed  to  the 
other.  I  remember  thinking  how  beautiful  and  dcai 
she  was  as  she  sat  by  the  nursery  fire,  and  the  flicker- 
ing light  fell  on  her  face  and  her  dark  hair,  and  how 
she  started  at  any  movement  or  moan  I  or  Harry 
made,  and  came  so  softly  to  the  bedside,  and  bent 
over  me  with  such  anxious  love  in  her  eyes,  and  '')aid 
tender  little  soothing  words,  and  smoothed  the  pil- 
low, or  kissed  my  forehead  with  the  soft  kiss  which 
was  better  than  any  cooling  draught.  Since  then, 
indeed,  we  have  been  much  away  from  her,  and  left 
to  governesses  and  tutors ;  but  Kitty,  think  what  a 
blessing  it  is  to  recall  all  that  early  affection  now,  in- 
stead of  by-and-by,  when  it  would  be  too  late  to  say 
a  loving  word  or  to  do  a  thing  to  please  her  in  re- 
turn !  Now  I  can  bear  to  think  of  this,  and  of  all 
my  coldness  and  impatience,  with  the  thought  of  the 
Cross  and  of  God's  forgiving  love,  and  with  the  hope 
of  the  days  to  come.  But  only  think  what  it  would 
have  been  to  have  seen  it  all  too  latey 

It  seems  as  if,  in  coming  back  to  God,  Evelyn  had 
come  back  to  all  that  is  tender  and  true  in  natural 
human  love. 

I  suppose  this  is  conversion.  The  joy  of  such  a 
waking  must  be  very  great.  But  it  is  joy  enough  to 
le  aicalce^  however  little  we  know  when  and  how  we 
awoke — awake  in  the  light  of  our  Heavenly  Father's 
love  to  do  the  day's  work  He  gives  us. 

To-day  she  smiled  and  said  to  me, — 

"  I  think  I  should  not  mind  now  their  talking  over 
my  tase  at  Lady's  Betty's  tea-parties.  I  had  rather 
not  but  if  there  was  kindness  at  the  bottom  of  it,  I 


Jl^tS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  105 

need  not  mind  much.  But  Kitty,"  slie  continued,  "  I 
do  think  still  it  is  not  possible  to  talk  truly  and  much 
of  our  deepest  feelings  of  any  kind.  I  think  it  is  a 
waste  of  power  which  we  want  for  action." 

"  We  certainly  need  not  sit  down  to  talk  of  our 
own  feelings,"  I  said.  "  There  are  moments  when 
they  mil  come  out.  And  there  is  so  much  in  the 
Bible  to  speak  of  mthout  talking  about  ourselves." 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "I  think  setting  ourselves  to 
talk  religion  is  weakening.  Think  of  Harry  and  me 
having  a  meeting  to  discuss  v/hich  of  us  loved  our 
parents  best,  or  whether  we  loved  them  better  yester- 
day or  to-day !  Yet  there  are  sacred  times  when  we 
must  speak  of  those  we  love." 

Aunt  Beauchamp  is  rather  puzzled  at  the  change 
In  Evelyn.  Evelyn  has  tried  to  explain  it  to  her. 
But  she  says  she  cannot  at  all  understand  it.  ^''Emry 
one  believed  in  Christianity  except  a  few  sceptics  like 
Lord  Bolingbroke.  Of  course^  the  work  of  our  re- 
demption was  *  finished.'  It  was  finished  more  than 
seventeen  hundred  years  since.  Mr.  Humden  preached 
about  it,  always,  at  least,  on  Good  Friday.  And 
why  Evelyn  should  be  so  particularly  anxious  about 
having  her  sins  forgiven,  she  could  not  conceive ; 
she  had  always  been  charming,  if  at  times  a  little 
espiegle.  But  if  she  was  happy  no  one  could  ob- 
ject." 

There  is  nothing  striking  in  this  change  in  Evelyn, 
but  it  is  pervading — a  gentleness  in  all  she  says  and 
does;  which,  with  the  natural  truthfulness  and 
power  of  her  character,  are  very  winning.  And 
this  I  notice  especially  with  regard  to  her  mother, 
a  deference  and  tenderness,  which  with  no  peculiar 
demonstration   of    affection,    evidently  touch  Aunt 


106  THE  DIARY  OF 

Beaucliamp  more  than  she  knows.     She  begins  even 
to  venture  to  consult  Evelyn  about  her  wardrobe. 

Evelyn  does  not  ask  to  go  again  to  hear  Mr.  Wliite- 
field.  But  she  has  asked  to  go  with  me  to  see  my 
poor  old  Methodist  orange  woman,  who  has  disap- 
peared from  our  door-steps,  and  now  lies  contentedly 
on  her  jDoor  bed,  coughing  and  suffering,  waitl  ig  the 
Lord's  time,  which,  she  says,  is  sure  to  be  exactly 
right.  The  dear  old  soul  gets  us  to  read  to  her 
chapters  from  her  old  Bible,  and  hymns  from  Mr. 
Wesley's  new  hymn-book ;  and  repeats  to  us  bits 
from  Mr.  Wesley's  sermons.  And  perhaps,  although 
sometimes  the  grammar  is  very  confused  and  the 
theology  not  very  clear,  the  strength  of  God  made 
perfect  in  the  weakness  of  a  dying-bed  may  help  us 
both  as  much  as  the  mighty  pow  er  of  Mr.  ^Yhite 
field's  eloquence. 

To-day  Hugh  Spencer  called  on  his  way  from 
Cornwall  to  Oxford. 

At  first  he  called  me  Mrs.  Kitty,  and  w^as  very  cere- 
monious. But  I  could  scarcely  help  crying,  I  was  so 
glad.  It  was  like  a  little  bit  of  home.  But  he  did 
not  bring  a  very  good  account  of  Mother,  and  that 
made  me  cry  in  earnest.  And  when  he  saw^  that  he 
dropped  naturally  into  his  old  manner — always  so 
kind,  and  like  truth  itself. 

When  he  was  gone,  Evelyn  asked  me  who  he  was^ 
and  wiiy  I  had  not  said  more  about  him. 

"  He  looks,"  she  said,  "  a  man  one  could  trust." 

But  why  should  I  ?  He  is  only  like  one  of  our- 
selves. 

I  am  so  glad  and  thanldul.    Aunt  Beauchamp  is 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  107 

going  again  to  Batli  for  the  waters.  And  from  Bath, 
tather  or  Jack  is  to  fetch  me  home. 

I  am  so  hapi^y,  I  can  scarcely  help  singing  all  day 
I  hope  it  is  not  ungrateful.  They  have  all  been  so 
very  kind  to  me  in  London. 

And  even  Aunt  Eeauchamp's  very  dignified  maid, 
of  whom  at  first  I  stood  in  such  awe,  seemed  quite 
sorry  when  she  heard  I  w^as  going,  and  fell  from  the 
highest  refinement  of  English  into  her  native  Devon- 
shire dialect,  when  she  took  leave  of  me,  to  go  and 
prepare  the  house  at  Bath,  and  wished  me  every 
blessing  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Yet  I  have  done  nothing  for  her,  except  being  very 
sorry  for  her,  and  tiying  to  comfort  her  one  day 
when  she  was  crying  because  her  only  brother  had 
got  drunk,  and  gone  and  taken  the  King's  money 
and  listed  for  the  wars,  and  left  her  widowed  mother 
alone. 

To-day  Evelyn  went  v^ith  me  to  v^ish  good-bye  to 
Aunt  Henderson.  Aunt  Henderson  was  very  kind  in 
her  hortatory  way.  She  told  me  she  had  heard  with 
thankfulness  that  Evelyn  had  become  serious.  But 
she  advised  her  not  to  run  into  extremes.  Young 
people  brought  out  of  the  world  were  very  apt  to 
run  into  the  other  extreme  of  fanaticism.  She  hoped 
Evelyn,  if  she  was  indeed  sincere,  would  kec  p  the 
golden  mean.  It  had  always  been  her  endeavor  to  do 
so,  and  she  had  found  it  the  wisest  plan. 

Cousin  Tom  was  more  shy  and  awkward  than  ever. 
He  said,  when  I  asked  him,  that  he  had  attended  Mr. 
Wesley's  preaching  two  or  three  times,  but  it  was 
like  daggers  to  him.  For  as  to  telling  everything  to 
his  father  and  mother,  he  did  not  see  how  any  human 
bci  ig  could.     To  sit  evening  after  evening  at  hom.e  a 


108  THE  DIAHT  OF 

distrusted  delinquent,  the  subject  of  indirect  lectures^ 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  If  he  confessed,  he 
must  run  away  the  next  morning. 

I  told  him  I  was  sure  he  had  no  idea  of  the  tru^ 
love  there  was  in  his  mother's  heart — if  he  would 
only  try  it. 

"  Very  little  more  idea,  Tom,"  I  said,  "  than  you 
have  of  the  love  God  has  for  you — if  you  would  only 
try  that !" 

A  gleam  of  light  flashed  for  a  moment  from  under 
the  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  he  glanced  up  at  me.  But 
then  the  old  desponding  downcast  look  came  back. 
Aunt  Henderson  and  Evelyn  joined  us,  and  he  said  no 
more. 

Aunt  Jeanie  seemed  to  me  feebler  than  when  I  saw 
her  last ;  but  her  dear  old  face  lighted  up  as  she 
talked  to  me. 

And  as  we  were  going  away,  she  rose  and  held  our 
hands  in  each  of  hers,  and  said,  in  a  tender,  trem- 
ling  voice, — 

'*  The  world  is  no  easy  place  for  baims  like  you  to 
find  their  way  through.  And  there's  no  safe  road 
through  it  that  I  know,  from  fii-st  to  last,  but  just  the 
foot-prints  of  the  Lord  himself.  But  you  must  not 
look  to  see  even  these  in  any  long  track  before  you. 
You'll  mostly  find  nothing  i)lain  but  the  next  step. 
But  your  heart  need  not  sink  for  that.  A  Saviour's 
hand  to  guide  you  is  better  than  a  map.  It  itpholdi 
irliiU  it  guides,  I  have  found  that  the  times  I  was 
longing  for  the  map  were  just  those  when  I  was 
losing  hold  of  the  hand ;  and  then  more  than  once 
the  thorns,  piercing  my  feet,  drove  me  back  to  the 
foot-prints  and  the  hand  I  should  never  have  for 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAHr.  109 

saken.  But  you  need  not  be  afraid  even  of  the 
thorns,"  she  added,  her  whole  face  lighting  up  with 
confidence  and  joy;  "the  feet  in  whose  prints  we 
tread  were  j)ierced  for  us  with  worse  than  thorns. 
And  the  hand  that  guides  and  upholds  is  a  hand 
well  alt)le  to  bind  up  any  wounds.  It  has  bound  up 
what  none  else  could — ^the  broken  heart." 

Then  as  once  or  twice  before,  she  seemed  to  forget 
the  thought  of  our  presence  in  the  presence  of  God. 
Her  spirit  seemed  to  rise  in  prayer. 

Evelyn  and  I  said  little  as  we  went  home  together. 
But  it  was  not  because  our  hearts  were  closed  to 
each  other.    They  seemed  not  only  too  full,  but  too 
near  to  need  the  inteiTcntion  of  words. 
10 


IV. 


j«jT  home  again !  With  what  longing  I  have 
looked  forward  to  the  moment  when  I  should 
be  able  to  write  those  words.  And  now  I  can 
scarcely  see  to  wiite  them  through  my  tears. 

For  Mother  looks  so  ill,  so  terribly  gentle ;  her 
step,  always  light,  so  noiseless  ;  her  voice,  always 
soft,  so  low  and,sweet ;  her  smile  so  tender,  not  like 
the  dawn  or  the  echo  of  happy  laughter,  but  like  the 
light  struggling  through  tears. 

Can  these  few  months  have  made  such  a  change, 
or  have  I  been  blind  ?  Father  does  not  seem  to  see 
it,  nor  Jack.  Can  it  be,  after  all,  only  that,  coming 
out  of  the  glare  of  that  brilliant  London  world, 
everything  in  our  quiet  world  at  home  looks  pale  for 
the  time  ? 

Because  the  house,  and  the  furniture,  and  all  look 
so  different.  I  never  saw  before  how  the  bit  of  car- 
pet in  the  i)arlor  is  worn  and  colorless  ;  nor  how  the 
chintz  curtains  are  patched  ;  nor  how  Mother's  Sun- 
day dress  itself  is  faded. 

And  these  cannot  have  changed  much  in  a  few 
months. 

Indeed,  as  it  is,  I  should  not  have  noticed  the 
furniture  half  as  much  if  we  had  met  as  usual  in 
the  hall,  around  our  ordinary  table,  to  our  ordinary 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAN:  111 

fare.  But  Betty  was  determined  to  make  it  a  liigli- 
day ;  and  accordingly  the  meal  was  spread  in  the 
parlor,  and  the  best  Delft  ware  was  brought  out,  as 
if  I  had  been  a  stranger  of  distinction  ;  and,  after 
all,  it  seemed  a  positive  wrong  to  notice  the  dams 
in  the  table-cloth,  bleached  to  such  a  dazzling  white- 
ness, and  the  crack  in  the  best  glass  sugar-basia, 
monument  of  an  ancient  battle  between  Betty  and 
Jack. 

Yes,  it  was  this  holiday  pitch  to  which  Betty  had 
insisted  on  winding  everything  up,  which  just  brought 
me  from  the  laughing  point  to  the  crying,  which 
is  so  near  it.  It  was  the  tender  anxiety  in  Mother's 
eyes  that  I  should  find  everything  especially  pleasant 
and  bright,  that  so  nearly  turned  the  smile  in  mine 
own  into  tears  whenever  I  looked  at  her.  It  was 
Betty's  ostentatious  exhibition  of  all  her  grandest 
things  that  gave  me  the  little  pang  when  Father 
took  ofi"  his  best  coat,  which  he  had  put  on  to  wel- 
come me,  and  Mother  took  it  from  him,  and  folded- 
it  so  carefully  in  its  white  covers,  and  laid  it  on  its 
shelf  in  the  cupboard. 

For  it  is  no  grievance  to  have  to  take  care  of  one's 
clothes  ;  I  am  sure  none  of  us  feel  it  so.  And  I  would 
not,  if  I  could,  have  our  dear  old  furniture  sink  into 
the  mere  decorative  ciphers  such  things  are  in  rich 
men's  houses,  instead  of  beiag  the  dear  familiar  old 
letters  on  which  so  much  of  the  history  of  our  lives 
is  written. 

No ;  it  was  just  the  strain  to  be  at  high-holiday 
pitch  which  was  too  much  for  the  carpet,  and  the 
table-cloth,  and  our  precious  Mother,  and  me. 

For  when  at  last  Father  gave  a  little  shivering 
glance  at  the  parlor  grate,  with  its  very  fine  decora- 


112  THE  DIARY  OF 

tions,  whicli  Betty  would  on  no  account  sacrifice  to 
such  low  considerations  as  warmth  and  comfort,  and 
Trusty,  with  his  paws  on  the  sacred  threshold  which 
he  dared  not  cross,  whined  an  insinuating  remon- 
strance against  our  exclusiveness,  and  our  stateliness 
at  last  broke  down,  and  Jack  set  a  light  to  the  fire 
in  the  great  hall,  and  we  five  drew  close  to  it,  and 
the  great  festival  was  over,  and  we  began  to  be 
really  at  home, — it  could  not  have  been  only  the 
glow  from  the  blazing  logs, — Mother  certainly  did 
look  less  pale,  and  more  like  her  own  self,  as  Trusty 
and  I  sat  together  at  her  feet,  she  stroking  my  hair, 
and  I  stroking  Trusty's  ears. 

Yet  we  did  not  remain  long  so  ;  Father  fell  asleep, 
and  waking  suddenly  asked  Jack  if  he  had  seen  to 
the  horses.  The  one  I  had  ridden  had  been  lent  us, 
and  had  a  cough,  and  must  have  a  warm  mash. 

Jack  had  not  seen  to  anything.  Father  drily  sup- 
posed not — ^how  could  any  one  expect  it  ? 

Jack  yawned  in  a  deprecatory  way,  and  went  out ; 
and  Father  did  not  fall  asleep  again,  but  followed 
Jack  in  a  few  minutes,  muttering  that  borrowed 
beasts  at  least  must  not  be  left  to  chance. 

The  troubled  look  came  into  Mother's  face  again. 
Trusty  evidently  felt  she  needed  consolation,  and 
after  following  Father  to  the  door,  paused  a  moment, 
then  came  back  and  put  his  paws  on  her  knee,  and 
attempted  to  lick  her  hand.  And  I  felt  just  as 
dumb  and  pei*plexed  as  the  dog,  and  could  do  little 
more  than  he  in  the  way  of  comfort.  I  could  only 
draw  Mother's  hand  round  my  neck,  and  press  a 
little  closer  to  her,  and  cover  it  with  silent  kisses. 

After  all,  we  are  all  " dumb  creatures"  after  a  cer- 


MRS,  KITTY  TBEVTLYAK  113 

tain  point.     Only,  dogs  reacli  their  dumb  point  a 
little  sooner  than  we  do. 

And  this  has  been  going  on  all  the  time  I  have 
been  away  I  While  I  have  been  living  without  care 
or  anxiety  ;  while  Aunt  Henderson  has  been  pursu- 
ing her  grave  routine  of  household  occupations, 
having  the  washing  done  on  Monday,  the  ironing  on 
Tuesday,  the  best  parlor  cleaned  on  Wednesday,  the 
l^ack  parlor  on  Thursday,  the  hall  and  the  garden- 
room  on  Friday,  and  things  in  general  on  Saturday ; 
while  Aunt  Beauchamp  has  been  amusing  herself 
with  her  complimentary  old  gentlemen  in  the  morn- 
ings, and  exciting  herself  over  her  cards  every 
evening ;  care,  care,  care,  keen  pangs  of  fear,  and 
slow  gnawings  of  anxiety  have  been  steadily,  surely, 
eating  away  at  Mother's  heart ;  and  no  one  has  seen 
it  but  Trusty !  Poor,  faithful,  perplexed  old  dog, 
he  has  seen  it — he  told  me  so  with  his  wistful  eyes 
this  evening,  and  by  his  low  whine  when  Jack  went 
out,  not  closing  the  door,  and  Father  followed  him, 
decisively  slamming  it.  And  I  have  not  been  here. 
But  nothing  on  earth  shall  ever  move  me  from 
Mother's  side  again. 

The  Same  Evening. 

Aftek  writing  these  words  my  heart  was  too  full 
for  any  more,  and  I  closed  the  Diary,  and  prepared  to 
go  to  sleep,  lest  Mother  should  see  my  candle  burn- 
ing too  late,  and  be  anxious  about  me.  But  it  was 
too  late  already.  The  soft  touch  was  on  the  latch  of 
the  door,  and  before  I  could  possibly  extinguish  the 
light  and  liide  my  tears  in  the  darkness.  Mother  was 
beside  me. 

"  My  darling !"  she  said,  a  rare  word  for  her,  "you 
10* 


114  THE  DIARY  OF 

are  over-tired.  You  are  not  well.  You  should  be  in 
bed  before  this.  We  must  come  back  to  our  homely 
old  country  ways." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  tired,  Mother,"  I  said,  trying  to 
speak  steadily. 

"Has  anything  troubled  you,  darling,"  she  said, 
"  while  you  were  away  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said ;  "  every  one  has  spoiled  me  with 
kindness." 

"  Spoiled  you  for  the  old  home,  Kitty  ?"  she  mur- 
mured. 

She  had  given  me  a  right  to  cry,  and  I  sobbed  out, 
"  Oh,  Mother,  it  is  nothing  but  you  ;  you  are  so  pale, 
and  things  have  been  troubling  you,  and  there  has 
been  no  one  to  see  it." 

She  was  too  truthful  to  comfort  me  with  a  decep- 
tion. She  only  smiled,  and  said,  "  Does  no  one  see 
but  you,  Kitty  ?  Well,  supposing  I  say  I  have  missed 
you  day  and  night,  and  never  knew  what  you  were  to 
me  till  you  went  away,  will  that  comfort  you,  Kitty  ? 
Shall  we  cry  because  it  is  all  right  again  ?" 

"  I  will  never  leave  you  again,  Mother,  as  long  as 
I  live,"  I  said  passionately. 

"As  long  as  we  both  live,  darling,"  she  replied 
very  quietly.  "  If  it  is  God's  will,  and  not  very  selfish 
in  me,  I  do  trust  not." 

I  was  calmed  by  her  words. 

[t  was  only  after  she  had  seen  me  safely  in  bed,  and 
closed  the  door,  and  come  back  again  to  give  me 
another  kiss  before  she  left  me,  that  her  words  came 
b-»-ck  on  me  with  another  meaning. 

"  As  long  as  we  hyfh  live." 

And  then  they  echoed  through  and  through  my 
b'^art,  like  a  passing  bell  through  a  vault.     And  I 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  115 

tossed  to  and  fro,  and  could  not  sleep,  until  I  re- 
membered I  had  not  said  my  prayers. 

The  first  night  of  my  coming  home !  the  thing  I 
had  prayed  for  evening  and  morning,  and  often  in  the 
day,  ever  since  I  had  left  home,  and  I  had  gone  to 
rest  without  a  word  of  thanks  to  God  1 

I  was  appalled  at  my  own  ingratitude.  I  rose  and 
knelt  by  the  window  in  the  moonlight,  which  quiv- 
ered through  the  branches  of  the  old  elms,  and 
shimmered  on  the  leaves  of  the  old  thorn,  and 
chequered  the  floor  through  the  diamond  lattice 
panes. 

It  was  that  I  wanted — only  that — prayer  w^th 
thanksgiving.  It  did  me  good  from  the  moment  I 
began. 

And  what  wonder  ?  Prayer  is  no  soliloquy.  The 
Bible  says,  w^hen  we  call  on  Him,  God  bends  down 
His  ear  to  listen,  as  a  father  bends  down  to  listen  to 
a  little  child.  Yes,  God  listens  I  He  heard  me  as  I 
confessed  my  ingratitude  and  my  distrustful  fears. 
He  heard  me  as  I  gave  Him  thanks  ;  He  heard  me  as 
I  committed  Mother  to  His  care. 

Ungrateful !  God  had  been  watching  Mother  all 
the  time,  understanding  her  inmost  cares,  and  caring 
for  her. 

And  He  w^ll  care  for  us,  "  as  long  as  we  'both  live.'''' 
Yes,  when  I  breathed  even  tJiose  words  into  His  ear, 
the  terrible  death-chill  seemed  to  pass  from  them. 

"  As  long  as  we  both  live  "  here  on  earth,  and,  then, 
w^hcn  we  have  no  more  cares  to  cast  on  Him,  He  will 
still  care  for  us  both  for  ever  and  for  ever. 

Margihal  Note. — I  was  unjust,  too,  to  say  no  one 
I) ad  seen  how  dear  Mother  was  looking :  for  Hugh 


116  THE  DIARY  OF 

Specer  told  me  she  was  looking  ill  when  I  saw  him 
in  Great  Ormond  Street. 

I  am  feeling  much  better  to-day  than  yesterday. 

In  the  first  place  Mother  is  looking  better. 

In  the  second  place,  I  have  had  my  morning  walk 
once  more,  and  milked  the  cows,  and  taken  the  cup 
of  new  milk  to  Mother  before  breakfast.  And  the 
mere  sight  and  sound  of  the  sea  made  my  heart 
buoyant  again  like  its  own  weaves;  the  great  and 
wide  sea,  heaving  its  innumerable  waves  from  its 
deep,  still  heart ;  the  wind  crisping  them  into  foam, 
till  they  looked  like  a  flight  of  snowy  sea-birds ;  the 
old  familiar  thunder  of  the  breakers  against  the 
rocks ;  the  long  roll  of  the  ebbing  wave,  as  it  swept 
the  pebbles  back  from  the  white  beach  far  below. 
Then  the  turf  was  crisp  with  hoar-frost ;  and  the 
wind  on  the  clifi"  blew  about  me  with  a  rough  hearti- 
ness; and  when  I  sat  on  the  milking-stool  in  the 
shelter  of  the  hollow,  Daisy  looked  round  at  me 
with  her  large,  motherly  eyes,  and  in  her  calm, 
friendly  way,  recognized  my  light  to  be  there.  So 
all  the  dumb  creatures  welcomed  me  home  again. 

And  in  the  third  place,  I  have  had  a  battle  with 
Betty,  which  is  her  welcome  and  recognition  that  I 
have  once  more  taken  my  old  standing. 

I  had  just  taken  the  new  milk  to  Mother,  and  to 
my  grief  and  surprise  had  not  found  her  in  her  own 
little  closet  over  the  porch ;  she  had  not  yet  risen. 

"  I  find  it  strengthens  me  more  to  take  the  milk 
before  I  rise,  Kitty,"  she  said,  making  light  of  it. 
**  I  did  not  think  you  would  have  been  stirring  so 
early  after  your  journey.  It  is  cold  sometimes  in  the 
mornings  now,"  she  added,  apologizing  to  my  rueful 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAN,  117 

looks ;  "  but  when  tlie  spring  comes,  we  sliall  liave 
our  morning  talks  in  the  porch-room  again." 

I  tried  to  make  as  light  of  the  change  as  Mother 
did,  to  her ;  but  when  I  left  her,  I  could  not  resist 
the  longing  to  pour  out  my  1  rouble  on  some  one. 
Father  was  in  the  fields.  Jack  was  in  bed.  Betty 
was  the  only  human  creature  in  the  house ;  and  I  had 
no  resource  but  to  invade  the  sanctuary  of  the  dairy 
where  she  was  making  the  butter. 

The  windows  were  open ;  the  low  sunbeams  slanted 
through  the  thick  leaves  close  outside,  flickering  on 
the  clean,  cool,  grey  slabs  of  slate ;  the  fresh  morn- 
ing air  came  in,  rippling  the  milk  in  the  pans  from 
which  the  thick  cream  had  been  skimmed,  while  the 
one  that  was  left  with  its  unbroken  crust  of  thick, 
yellow  cream,  recalled  countless  childish  feastings. 
Altogether  it  was  a  delicious  atmosphere  of  cool- 
ness, and  greenness,  and  cream,  and  memories  of  child- 
hood ;  and  I  felt  just  as  much  a  child  beside  Betty, 
as  when  Jack  and  I  stood  there,  humble  j)etitioners 
to  her  bounty  as  Queen  of  the  Dairy,  and  Dispenser 
of  all  that  was  Delicious,  scarcely  tall  enough  to  see 
over  the  brims  of  those  wonderful  pans  of  delight. 

Betty  was  facing  the  window,  lovingly  patting  her 
butter  into  shape,  and  humming  to  herself  a  low 
winding  song,  with  as  little  beginning  or  end  as  the 
murmur  of  a  brook.  She  did  not  hear  me  until  I 
stood  before  her,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Oh,  Betty,  why  did  no  one  tell  me  ?  Has  no  one 
seen  how  ill  Mother  is  V 

It  was  an  indiscreet  beginning.  Betty  looked  on 
it  as  an  assault.  For  a  minute  she  said  nothing,  then 
^till  continuing  apparently  absorbed  in  her  butter 
she  replied  drily, — 


118  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  Some  folks  thinks  no  one  sees  anything  except 
they  tell  it  to  the  town-crier.  Some  folks,  especially 
young  folks,  thinks  no  one  sees  anything  but  them- 
selves." 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,  Betty!"  I  said. 
"  How  long  has  Mother  not  been  able  to  get  up  to 
have  her  milk  ?    And  why  did  no  one  write  to  me  V 

"  Why  no  one  wrote  I  can't  say,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she 
replied.  "  Why  /  didn't  write,  is  as  plain  as  why  the 
dog  doesn't  speak.  Not  that  that  is  so  very  plain 
neither,  leastwise  as  regards  Trusty,  for  he  sees  more 
than  a  sight  of  us  that  can." 

And  she  continued  dexterously  and  elaborately 
shaping  her  butter  into  the  well-remembered  dainty 
little  rolls,  as  if  the  precise  curve  of  the  rolls  were  of 
supreme  importance,  and  the  question  under  discus- 
sion of  none. 

My  disadvantages  in  the  contest  were  great ;  a 
woman  with  her  fingers  employed  has  always  such  a 
high  vantage-ground  in  a  debate,  over  one  that  is 
idle.  The  matter  in  debate  can  always  be  treated 
in  a  i^lacid  parenthetical  way,  as  quite  subordinate  to 
the  matter  in  hand.  Besides,  Betty  was  in  the  very 
heart  of  her  dominions,  and  I  was  an  invader. 

My  only  chance  was  to  get  her  to  perceive  that  I 
was  no  combatant  at  all,  but  only  a  suppliant,  when, 
after  guarding  herself  with  an  admonition,  I  knew 
her  faithful  womanly  heart  would  open  all  its  stores 
of  affection  and  pity  at  once. 

The  tears  which  nearly  choked  my  voice  came  to 
my  aid,  as  I  said, — 

"  Betty,  I  know  you  love  her  almost  as  I  do,  and 
you  always  see  as  quickly  as  any  one.  Is  Mother  ill  if 
and  can  anything  be  done  ?" 


MliS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAU:  119 

Tlicn  Betty,  having  laid  the  last  finished  roll  on  its 
white  dish,  began  to  wipe  her  hands  in  the  runner 
that  hung  behind  the  door,  and  said, — 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mrs.  Kitty,  I  believe  we 
make  a  heathen  idol  of  Missis,  and  the  Lord  won't 
have  it."  And  the  runner  was  suspiciously  drawn 
over  Betty's  face. 

"  Make  Mother  a  heathen,  Betty !"  I  said.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  this,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said :  "  I  have  heard 
that  parson  that  the  other  parsons  can't  abide,  and 
who  turned  my  brother-in-law  into  a  lamb  ;  and  he 
said  we  are  all  bom  idolaters,  no  better  than  the 
heathen,  unless  we  love  God.  And  then  he  went  on 
to  say  what  were  our  idols.  At  first  I  thought  he 
was  going  to  let  us  all  off  easy.  For  he  spoke  of  the 
rich  man  worshipping  his  riches,  and  I  thought  of 
the  old  miser  at  Falmouth,  who  counts  out  his  money 
every  night ;  and  then  he  spoke  of  the  great  man 
worshipping  his  acres,  and  I  thought  there  was  a  hit 
at  our  squire,  who  wouldn't  let  Master  have  that  bit 
of  a  field  that  runs  into  ours,  and  would  have  made 
such  a  winter  pasture  for  our  Daisy ;  and  then  he 
spoke  of  the  foolish  young  hussy s  making  an  idol  of 
their  ribbons,  and  I  looked  round  on  a  many  such 
that  were  there,  to  see  how  they  liked  that.  And 
then  he  told  of  husbands  and  wives  making  idols  of 
each  other,  and  mothers  of  their  children,  and  then  I 
thought  of  all  of  you,  Mrs.  Kitty,  and  wished  that 
Master  and  you  and  Missis  had  been  there  to  hear ; 
and  so  I  do  sure,  it  would  have  done  you  all  a  sight 
of  good.  There's  Master  makes  an  open  idol  of  you, 
Miy  dear ;  and  Missis  is  just  as  bad,  only  she  does  it 


120  THE  DIARY  OF 

in  secret  like ;  and  you  think  no  one  fit  to  touch  Alis- 
sis  or  look  after  her  but  yourself." 

Having  thus  delivered  her  conscience  of  her  ser- 
mon, Betty  had  made  an  outlet  for  her  sympathy ; 
and  sitting  down  on  a  bench,  and  wiping  her  face 
with  her  apron,  she  resumed  in  a  gentle  husky 
tone, — 

"Not  that  I  thiuk  you  need  worrit  yourself  so 
much  about  Missis.  In  my  belief,  it's  you,  Mrs. 
Kitty,  my  dear,  that  she  has  been  pining  for ;  and 
now  she's  got  you  again,  the  life  will  come  back 
again,  like  a  fish  thrown  back  into  the  w^ater ;  least- 
ways if  you  don't  go  making  an  idol  of  her,  and, 
with  your  tears  and  your  woeful  looks  watching 
every  turn  of  her  face,  love  her  right  away  from  us 
altogether  into  heaven,  which  at  any  time,  in  my  be- 
lief, it  would  take  little  to  do  with  Missis.  For  that 
she  is  fit  for  to  go  nobody  can  deny.  But  as  to  her 
not  getting  up  so  early,"  she  continued,  "  that's  some- 
thing to  be  thankful  for,  my  dear.  It  was  me  that 
brought  her  over  to  that,  and  I  hope  no  one  will 
over-persuade  her  out  of  it.  Some  folks  seem  to 
think  it  improves  a  weak  rope  to  stretch  it  as  far 
as  it  will  strain.  In  my  belief,  it's  more  like  to 
snap  it." 

Betty's  view  of  Mother's  health  comforted  me 
much.  It  seemed  to  bring  the  matter  from  the  region 
of  vague,  immeasurable,  helpless  fears,  into  that  of 
actual  but  remediable  cares,  which  a  little  cheerful, 
tender  nursing  might  soon  relieve.  I  felt  anxious  to 
know  more  of  Betty's  experience  with  the  Methodists, 
and  I  said, — 

"  Then  the  parson,  after  all,  said  nothing  which 
particularly  suited  you,  Betty  ?'» 


MBS.  KITTY  TBEVYLTAN.  121 

"  Suited !  no, .  Mrs.  Kitty,  lie  did  not  surely ;  as 
little  as  a  rod  suits  a  fool's  back.  And  a  fool  I  was 
to  go,  wlien  Missis  warned  me  not." 

"  You  did  not  like  what  he  said,  then  ?" 

"  I  should  think  not,"  she  replied.  "  I  should  like 
to  know  who  would  like  to  be  stuck  up  in  the  stocks 
before  the  whole  parish,  and  pelted  with  dirt  and 
stones,  not  in  a  promiscuous  way  like,  but  just  ex- 
actly where  it  hurts  most !" 

"  How  was  it,  Betty  V  I  ventured  to  ask. 

To  my  great  amazement,  Betty's  voice  suddenly 
failed,  and  she  began  to  cry.  Never  before  had  I 
seen  her  show  any  sign  of  feeling,  beyond  a  transient 
huskiness  of  voice,  or  a  suspicious  brushing  of  her 
hand  over  her  eyes.  She  was  wont  to  be  as  much 
ashamed  of  tears  as  a  schoolboy.  But  now  her  tears 
became  sobs,  and  it  was  some  little  time  before  she 
could  speak. 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  it  was  just  as  I  was  think- 
ing who  he'd  hit  next,  and  smiling  to  myself  to  see 
the  poor  fools  sobbing  and  fainting  around  me,  when 
down  came  the  word  like  an  arrow  right  into  the 
core  of  my  heart ;  and  there  I  had  to  stand  writhing, 
like  a  fish  on  a  hook,  while  the  parson  drove  it  in  ; 
and  he  as  quiet  all  the  time  as  if  he'd  been  fixing .  a 
nail  in  the  right  spot  to  a  hair's-breadth,  in  a  piece 
of  wood  that  mustn't  be  split.  I  could  have  knocked 
him  down,  Mrs.  Kitty ;  but  there  I  stood,  fixed  and 
helpless  as  a  worm  with  a  pin  through  it." 

"  But  what  did  he  say,  Betty  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  he  made  me  feel  I  was 
no  better  than  a  natural-bom  heathen,   and    that 
the  idols  I  had  been  worshipping,  instead  of  God, 
11 


122  THE  DIARY  OF 

were  things  an  Indian  savage  would  liFive  been 
ashamed  of." 

"  What  were  they  then,  Betty  ?" 

"  Why,  just  my  dairy,  and  my  kitchen,  and  myself,-' 
she  said ;  "  the  very  pats  of  butter  which  must  be 
better  than  any  in  the  countiy,  and  the  stone  floor 
I've  been  as  angered  to  see  a  foot-mark  on,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  King's  foot-stool." 

*'  The  parson  did  not  speak  about  pats  of  butter 
and  kitchen  floors  ?"  I  said. 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,"  she  replied ;  "  but  1 
knew  well  enough  what  he  meant,  and  so  did  he ; 
the  passions  I've  been  in  with  Master  Jack  and  you 
about  your  tricks,  and  with  old  Roger  about  his 
dirty  shoes,  and  all." 

"  But,  Betty,"  I  interposed,  "  Jack  and  I  and  Roger 
were  provoking  and  wrong  often ;  and  the  kitchen 
and  the  dairy  were  the  work  God  had  given  you  to 
do,  and  you  miglit  to  care  about  them." 

"  What's  the  use  of  struggling,  Mrs.  Kitty?"  Betty 
replied,  hopelessly  shaking  her  head.  "I  am  not 
going  to  defend  Roger.  If  I  were  a  saint,  I'd  not 
say  Roger's  not  often  as  bad  as  a  bom  fool,  and  that 
tilings  don't  often  hapi)en  aggravating.  Haven't  I 
gone  over  things  times  without  number,  and  made 
out  everything  as  clear  as  if  I'd  been  a  lawyer  at  the 
assizes — that  Fd  a  right  to  be  in  a  rage,  and  a  right 
to  care  for  the  work  the  Almighty  gave  me  to  do  ? 
But  it's  no  use  ;  the  wound  is  there  and  the  word  is 
there,  working  and  rankling  away  in  it  like  a  rusty 
nail.  I'm  a  poor,  sinful  woman,  ]Mrs.  Kitty,  and  that's 
the  end  of  it,  and  I  see  no  way  out  of  it." 

**  But,  Betty,"  I  said,  "  did  you  not  go  again,  and 
try  to  get  comfort  ?" 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLYAy,  123 

"  I  did  indeed,  although  I  had  little  hope  of  get- 
ting comfort,"  she  said.  "  All  the  time  he  was  speak- 
ing, he  looked  at  me  through  and  through  like,  but 
I  never  flinched :  I  looked  at  him  back  again ;  and  I 
set  my  face,  and  said  in  my  heart,  '  You've  caught 
me  now,  but  I'll  never  let  you  try  your  hand  on  me 
again.'  But  when  he  had  stopped  and  I  had  got 
away,  it  seemed  as  if  something  were  always  drawing 
and  drawing  me  back,  like  a  moth  to  a  candle.  So 
at  last  I  went  again.  A  lot  of  folks  from  the  mines 
and  the  fishings  were  met  on  the  side  of  the  moor, 
and  a  man  preached  to  them  from  the  top  of  a  hedge. 
But  this  time  it  was  not  the  parson,  Mr.  Wesley ;  it 
was  a  chap  from  Yorkshire — a  stout,  tall  fellow, 
strong  enough  to  throw  any  wrestler  in  Cornwall. 
At  first  I  thought  he  was  speaking  a  foreign  tongue  ; 
but  when  I  made  him  out,  I  found  he  was  worse  than 
the  other.  The  parson  drove  that  one  nail  home  into 
your  heart,  and  kept  it  there  in  one  spot,  struggle  as 
you  might ;  but  the  Yorkshire  man  knocked  and 
pounded  you  about  until  there  was  no  sound  place 
left  in  you  from  top  to  toe.  He  made  me  feel  I  had 
been  doing,  and  speaking,  and  thinking,  and  feeling 
wrong  every  day  of  my  life,  and  was  to  this  day. 
And  that  was  all  the  comfort  I  got  for  not  minding 
Mssis." 

"  But,  Betty,"  I  said,  "  there  is  comfort,  there  U 
balm  for  such  wounds ;  that  was  not  all  these  Metho- 
dists said  ?" 

•'  No,"  she  replied  mournfully,  "  folks  say  they 
spoke  wonderful  gracious  words  about  our  Saviour 
and  His  death  and  His  pity.  But  all  I  know  is,  it 
all  turned  to  gall  for  me.  They  say  sugar  turns  to 
vinegar  when  folks'  insides  are  wrong ;  and  I  sujjposo 


124  777^  DIARY  OF 

the  sweetest  words  man  or  angel  ever  spoke  would 
be  sour  to  me,  as  long  as  my  heart  is  all  wrong. 
Why,  the  very  thing  that  makes  me  worse  than  the 
Indian  savages,  is  the  Lord's  pity  and  what  he  went 
through  for  me,  for  they  never  heard  of  it,  and  I 
have." 

*'  But,  Betty,"  I  said,  "  there  is  prayer !  You  can 
pray." 

"  I  always  thought  I  could,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said, 
"  until  I  came  to  try.  I've  always  said  the  Lord's 
Prayer  every  night,  and  the  Belief  and  the  Com- 
mandments on  Sundays.  But  when  I  came  to  want 
something  and  ask  for  it,  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not 
pray  at  all ;  pray,  of  course,  I  might,  but  it  seems  as 
if  there  were  no  one  there  to  mind." 

*'  Betty,"  I  said,  "  I  think  you  really  do  know  our 
Lord's  pity  and  grace  as  little  as  the  Indians.  You 
speak  as  if  you  were  all  alone  in  your  troubles,  when 
all  your  troubles  are  only  the  rod  and  staff  of  God 
bringing  you  home." 

"  Maybe,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  can't  see 
it.  I  only  feel  the  smart  and  the  bruises,  and  they 
worrit  me  to  that  degree  I  can  barely  abide  Koger, 
or  Master  Jack,  or  you,  or  ]\Iissis,  or  anybody.  I 
even  struck  at  old  Trusty  the  other  day  with  the 
mop — poor,  harmless,  dumb  brute — as  if  it  was  Jiis 
fault.  But  he  knew  I  meant  no  harm,  and  came 
crouching  to  lick  my  hand  the  next  moment." 

"  Oh,  Betty,"  I  said,  "  the  poor  beasts  understand 
us  l)etter  than  we  undei*stand  God  I     They  trust  us.'* 

"And  well  they  may,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  "  for 
they  never  did  any  sin.  The  cat  '11  steal  the  milk  if 
she  gets  a  chance,  jooor  fool,  and  the  dog  cannot  be 
trusted  with  a  bone  at  all  times,  I'll  not  say  he  can. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  125 

But  the  Almighty  made  them  so,  and  it's  us  that 
puts  them  out  with  our  laws  about  mine  and  thine, 
which  they  don't  understand.  It's  their  nature. 
But  the  Almighty  never  made  us  to  bury  our  souls 
in  pats  of  butter  and  pans  of  milk,  and  forget  Ilim. 
and  fly  into  rages  about  a  bit  of  dirt  on  a  kitchen 
floor.  And  until  that  can  be  set  right,  I  don't  see 
that  anything  is  right,  or  that  I  can  think  with  any 
comfort  of  the  Almighty." 

"  But  our  Saviour  came  to  set  all  that  right,  Betty," 
I  said.  "  He  came  to  put  away  sin  by  the  sacrifice 
of  Himself." 

"  Maybe,  sure,"  said  Betty,  "  but  I  know  it's  not  at 
all  set  right  for  me." 

She  rose,  and  once  more  wiping  the  tears  from  her 
face,  she  went  into  the  kitchen  to  set  the  rashers  on 
the  fi7ing  pan  for  breakfast. 

But  before  she  drowned  her  voice  in  the  hissing  of 
the  bacon,  she  turned  and  said  to  me  with  unusual 
gentleness : — 

"  You  mean  it  very  kind,  Mrs.  Kitty ;  but  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  pour  out  my  troubles  on  you. 
It's  not  to  be  expected  a  young  maid  like  you  should 
understand.  But  you  meant  it  very  kind,  my  dear ; 
only  don't  say  a  word  to  worrit  Missis,  and  don't  you 
lose  heart  about  Mssis  yourself,  for  she  '11  get  round 
in  time,  sure,  now  she's  got  you  again ;  if  you  don't 
go  and  make  a  heathen  idol  oi  her,  as  the  parson 
said.  And  after  all,  my  dear,"  she  concluded,  "  I 
never  found  the  work  any  the  forwarder  for  worrying 
about  it  over  night.  You  can't  mend  a  thing  before 
it's  torn ;  and  if  you  get  a  hundred  pieces,  the  rent  '11 
always  be  sure  just  to  go  in  the  way  that  fits  none 
of  'em.  Things  he  perverse,  most  times,  and  there's 
11* 


t26  THE  DIARY  OF 

no  way  that  I  know  by,  of  being  up  with  them  be- 
forehand." 

Betty's  prediction  seems  coming  true,  perhaps  is 
making  itself  true,  for  her  cheery  words  about  Mother 
have  lightened  my  heart,  and  the  lightening  of  my 
heart  seems  to  lighten  Mother's.  The  anxious  look 
is  wearing  away  a  little,  although  not  the  paleness. 
But  I  cannot  say  all  is  right  between  Father  and 
Jack. 

This  morning  they  had  one  of  the  word-battles 
Mother  and  I  so  greatly  dread. 

We  three  had  all  but  finished  breakfast,  and  Father 
had  been  making  very  sharp  comments  on  Jack's  ab- 
sence, when  he  himself  came  strolling  in  in  his  easy 
unconcerned  way,  and  seating  himself  at  the  table 
after  a  general  greeting,  began  to  play  Tvdth  the 
home-brewed  ale  and  bread  and  cheese  in  rather  a 
languid  manner,  every  now  and  then  half  suppress- 
ing a  yawn. 

"  Over-wrought  with  last  evening's  work,  I  con- 
clude," said  Father,  beginning,  as  he  usually  does, 
with  the  politest  sarcasm ;  *'  when  yoimg  gentlemen 
toil  till  midnight,  old  men,  of  course,  must  expect  to 
work  in  the  morning  while  they  rest." 

"  I  believe  I  was  rather  late  last  night,  sir,"  said 
Jack,  with  an  easy  attempt  at  apology. 

"  And  in  good  company,  sir  1"  said  Father.  "  A 
pleasant  serenade  you  and  your  companions  gave 
us,  as  you  parted.  A  little  too  much  repetition, 
perhaps,  in  the  strains,  and  a  slight  uncertainty  in 
the  close." 

*'  I  was  not  drunk,  sir,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  did  not  say  you  were,  sir.    I  spoke  of  your 


MRS.  KITTY  TliEVYLYAX  127 

company,  not  of  your  entertainment.  Any  gentle- 
man may  bo  overtaken,  now  and  then,  among  his 
equals,  of  course,  but  no  son  of  mine — no  gentleman 
who  bears  the  name  of  Trevylyan — shall  have  my 
leave  to  herd  with  degraded  sots,  who  make  brutes 
of  themselves  on  small  beer." 

"There  is  a  difference  between  claret  and  beer, 
certainly,  sir,"  said  Jack,  daintily  quaffing  his  home- 
brewed, while  he  glanced  at  the  little  bottle  of 
French  wine,  always  set  for  Father  (he  acquired  the 
habit  in  the  army  in  Flanders,  Mother  says,  and  can- 
not be  expected  to  do  without  it  now.  If  it  is  a 
little  expensive,  we  can  save  in  other  ways). 

"  There  is  a  difference  between  you  and  me,  sir !" 
retorted  Father,  dropping  his  sarcasm  and  enforcing 
his  words  with  some  of  those  strong  expressions, 
which  Mother  says  he  also  acquired  in  the  army  in 
Flanders.  "  I  give  you  notice  that  I  pay  no  more 
bills  at  any  low  tavern  where  you  may  choose  to 
make  boon-companions  of  any  rascally  fellow  in  the 
town  and  neighborhood." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  in  preferring  better  com- 
pany, sir,"  said  Jack;  "but  I  cannot  afford  it.  I 
have  neither  horses  for  the  hunt,  nor  fine  clothes  to 
wear,  nor  fine  company  to  keep  that  I  can  see, 
unless  I  seek  the  society  of  the  Squire,  who  is  car- 
ried to  bed  every  night  from  the  effects  of  the  best 
claret." 

"  Leave  the  table,  sir,"  said  Father,  "  if  you  cannot  - 
speak  except  to  insult  me." 

Jack  rose  without  a  murmur,  throwing  the  re- 
mainder of  his  bread  and  cheese  to  Trusty,  but 
before  he  went  out  of  the  door  he  turned  back 
and  took  a  cherrv-colored  ribbon  knot  out  of  his 


128  TUE  DIARY  OF 

pocket,  which  he  said  he  had  bought  for  me  at  the 
fair. 

"  Is  it  paid  for,  sir  ?"  said  Father,  in  a  tone  of  sup- 
pressed rage. 

"  I  had  no  small  change  about  me  at  the  time," 
said  Jack,  "  and  I  told  them  so.  But  Hugh  Spencer 
happened  to  be  near,  and  he  lent  me  the  money." 

"  No  daughter  of  mine  shall  wear  stolen  goods  I" 
said  Father,  and  seizing  the  ribbon  he  threw  it  on 
the  fire. 

With  that  Jack  grew  warm  and  strode  out  of  the 
house,  and  Father  grew  cool,  and  seeing  the  tears  in 
my  eyes,  smoothed  my  hair  tenderly,  and  told  me  not 
to  fret,  my  own  brown  hair  was  better  than  all  the 
cherry-colored  knots  in  the  world. 

"  It  is  not  for  the  ribbon,  Father,"  I  said. 

"  For  what  then  ?"  he  said  testily. 

"  For  thee  and  Jack,  Father,"  I  said. 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  he  said : — 

"  Perhaps  I  was  rather  hard  on  the  poor  fellow. 
Boys  will  be  boys." 

"  It  was  not  that  I  meant.  Father,"  I  said,  for  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  speak,  because  Mother  was  crying ;  and 
dearly  as  Father  loves  her,  he  never  will  bear  a  word 
from  her.  "  It  was  not  that.  It  is  that  you  are 
right  and  Jack  is  wrong,  and  yet  you  always  let  him 
make  you  seem  wrong,  because  he  is  so  cool  and  he 
puts  you  in  a  passion.*' 
.  *'  Fine  education  you  give  your  children,  madam ;" 
said  he,  turning  to  Mother ;  "  your  son  puts  me  in  a 
rage,  like  an  old  fool  as  I  am,  and  your  chit  of  a 
daughter  reads  me  a  sermon." 

But  he  was  not  angry  either  with  mother  or  me. 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAK  139 

And  at  dinner,  like  a  generous  gentleman  as  lie  is, 
h^^  held  out  his  hand  to  Jack  and  said : — 

''' Perhaps  I  was  hard  to  you,  my  boy.  It  was 
WH^ll-meant,  after  all,  buying  your  sister  the  ribbon." 

But  that  was  not  all  what  I  meant.  Jack  had 
come  off  from  the  conflict  a  self-complacent  victor, 
satisfied  that  he  had  kept  his  temper  under  great 
provocation,  and  had  done  a  very  generous  action  in 
bi?ying  me  a  ribbon  with  Hugh  Spencer's  money, 
which,  of  course,  especially  now  that  the  ribbon  was 
burned,  he  would  never  think  of  paying. 

And  Jack  is  so  pleasant,  that  when  I  lecture  him, 
it  always  ends  in  a  joke ;  and  when  Betty  and  Father 
scold  him,  they  always  put  themselves  in  the  wrong, 
and  end  by  virtually  begging  his  pardon ;  and  when 
Mother  gently  remonstrates,  he  ends  in  persuading 
her  that  he  is  on  the  eve  of  turning  over  quite  a  new 
leaf,  and  indeed  had  quite  made  uj)  his  mind  to  do 
so  before  she  spoke. 

But  the  new  leaf  is  only  a  repetition  of  the  old, 
and  my  heart  aches  to  think  how  it  can  end.     It 
seems  to  me  people  never  drift  by  accident  into  the  • 
right  haven. 

July  the  Fifteenth. 

I  WONDER  if  any  one  ever  quite  carried  out  all 
Bishop  Taylor's  rules  every  day.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  mean  it  to  be  done.  It  so  often  happens  with 
me  that  one  "  action  of  piety  "  takes  up  the  time  of 
the  whole  seven.  For  instance,  one  morning  I  seem 
able  to  do  nothing  but  rejoice  in  the  thought  how 
good  God  and  my  Saviour  are,  and  thank  Him  for 
all  His  goodness  to  us.  The  next  I  am  overv/helmed 
with  the  thought  of  my  own  weakness  and  sinful- 


130  THE  DIARY  OF 

ness,  and  the  wrong  tilings  I  think,  and  say,  and  do. 
And  this  morning  I  seemed  able  to  do  nothing  but 
pray  for  Jack.  I  am  so  anxious  about  him,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  help  loving  him  so  dearly,  if  it  were 
only  for  Mother's  sake,  who  loves  him  as  the  apple 
of  her  eye. 

I  wonder  if  Mother  is  quite  right.  She  seems  to 
think  women  were  only  made  to  endure  patiently 
whatever  the  men  belonging  to  them  inflict,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously.  But  I  think  we  should 
try  to  prevent  them  being  selfish  and  inconsiderate 
for  us,  because  it  does  them  harm  as  w^ell  as  us. 

But  am  I  right  in  seeing  so  much  of  "  the  mote  in 
my  brother's  eye?"  Does  our  Lord  mean  that  we 
should  be  blind  to  the  faults  of  those  we  love,  or 
that,  not  leing  Uind,  we  should  shut  our  eyes  and 
say,  "  I  will  not  see  ?"  He  cannot  mean  this,  for 
it  would  be  false,  and  all  false  things  He  abhors. 

I  think  he  must  mean  that  we  should  love  on, 
in  spite  of  all  we  see.  How  can  we  help  each  other 
unless  we  see  where  each  needs  help  ?  But  we  must 
see,  not  to  exhibit  but  to  veil,  not  to  judge  but  to 
help. 

Love  is  not  blind,  I  am  sure,  for  true  love  lives  and 
breathes,  and  has  its  being  in  truth. 

It  is  the  selfishness  in  our  love  which  is  blind,  the 
passionate  selfishness  which  says,  "  This  is  mine, 
therefore,  I  will  think  it  fair,  and  will  give  the  lie  to 
any  who  say  it  is  not." 

But  God  is  Love,  and  He  is  the  Truth,  and  Ho 
says  to  us,  "  You  are  fiot  sinless,  you  are  not  fair,  but 
you  are  mine;  I  have  pitied  and  redeemed  you, 
because  you  were  wretched  and  polluted,  and  I  will 
make  you  fair." 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAy.  131 

And  in  our  poor  narrow  measure  I  think  we  should 
try  to  be  and  do  the  same. 

My  last  attempt  to  take  the  mote  out  of  my  bro- 
ther's eye  has  certainly  not  been  at  all  successful, 
except  that  it  has  answered  the  purpose  of  showing 
me  more  plainly  the  beam  in  my  own. 

After  writing  about  Jack  as  I  did  last  night,  I  felt 
this  morning  as  if  it  were  scarcely  sisterly  and  honest 
not  to  tell  him  what  I  thought  this  afternoon. 

Betty  was  "meating  the  pigs,''  Father  was  guiding 
the  plough  with  Roger,  the  call  to  the  laboiing  oxen 
came  pleasantly  across  the  valley,  Mother  was  s'^wing 
in  the  hall,  and  I  and  Jack  were  alone  in  the  kitchen, 
I  sorting  herbs  on  the  table  at  the  open  window,  and 
he  polishing  a  new  gun  I  had  brought  him  from 
London.  The  opportunity  seemed  favorable,  and  I 
ventured  to  say, — 

"  Jack,  you  won't  mind  my  saying  so ;  but  you 
will  pay  Hugh  Spencer  for  the  cherry-colored  ribbon, 
won't  you  ?" 

''  How  can  you  worry  about  such  trifles,  Kitty,"  he 
said.  "  Just  a  few  pence,  not  worth  mentioning  be- 
tween old  friends,  and  gentlemen's  sons." 

"  But  they  were  lent,"  I  said ;  "  and  a  debt  is  a 
debt." 

"  Let  Father  pay  it  then,"  he  said,  laughing ;  "  he 
has  the  property.  Or  you  yourself,  Kitty ;  since 
you  are  so  particular." 

"  I  would,  indeed,  Jack,"  I  said ;  "  but  it  is  such 
a  trifle,  I  don't  like  to  speak  to  Hugh  about  it." 

*'  Nor  do  I,"  he  said  drily. 

"  But  it's  your  debt,"  I  said. 

"  Kitty,"  he  replied,  "  you  are  in  the  way  to  be  one 


133  THE  DIARY  OF 

of  the  most  aggravating  women  I  know.  It's  a 
symptom  of  insanity  when  trifles  take  such  posses- 
sion of  the  brain.     You  should  be  careful." 

''  But  how  much  was  it,  Jack  V  I  persisted  once 
more.  *'  I  couid  give  you  the  money,  you  know,  and 
you  could  pay  Hugh." 

'^  You  may  give  me  what  money  you  please,"  he 
replied,  **I  am  not  too  proud  to  be  thankful  for 
trifles.  But  I  shall  not  pay  Hugh.  It  would  be  a 
degradation  to  allude  to  such  nonsense.  And  besides," 
he  continued,  *'  Hugh  Spencer  is  a  screw,  and  it  is 
only  what  he  deserved.  I  asked  him  to  lend  me  a 
few  guineas  a  few  days  before,  and  he  refused.  I  was 
disgusted  with  his  meanness." 

I  felt  myself  getting  hot,  and  I  said, — 

"  I  think  the  meanness  is  in  borrowing,  not  in  not 
lending." 

"  You  are  always  ready  enough  to  turn  against 
me,"  said  Jack ;  *'  but  you  may  look  in  the  Bible, 
and  you'll  find  plenty  about  the  duty  of  lending, 
and  not  even  expecting  to  be  paid  again.  It's  like 
the  publicans  to  lend,  expecting  to  receive  as  much 
again.  And  to  refuse  to  lend  at  all  is  worse ;  it's 
like  the  Pharisees  and  hypocrites.  An  open  heart 
and  an  open  hand,  that's  the  kind  of  Christianity  I 
like,  and  that's  the  kind  of  Christian  I  mean  to  be 
when  I  am  rich.  Do  you  think  I  should  have  shut 
my  purse  to  Hugh  if  I  had  had  money  to  lend  ?" 

"  Jack,"  I  said,  "  Hugh  is  not  a  publican  nor  a 
Pharisee,  and  you  know  it.  You  know  he  has  im- 
poverished himself  again  and  again  to  get  you  out 
of  scrapes ;  and  if  he  ever  refused  to  help  you,  it 
was  because  he  thought  it  right  to  refuse ;  and  he 
was  right,  I  have  no  doubt.     And  with  all  your 


3[BS.  KITTY  TBEVYLTAN:  133 

grand  intentions,  when  did  you  ever  deny  yourself 
anything  for  any  one  V 

Jack  had  entangled  me  in  his  soiDhisms,  and 
driven  me  to  indignant  assertions,  as  he  does  Father. 
He  was  cool  as  usual,  and  pushed  his  advantage. 

"  As  to  self-denial,"  he  said,  '*  if  I  had  the  means, 
it  would  be  no  self-denial  to  me  at  all  to  help  my 
friends,  but  the  greatest  pleasure.  And  I  never  said 
Hugh  was  a  publican  or  a  Pharisee.  I  only  said  the 
publicans  and  Pharisees  disliked  lending  money.  I 
daresay  they  were  right ;  and  Hugh  was  right,  at  all 
events,  as  regarded  the  money." 

"  Oh,  Jack  !"  I  said,  "  how  can  you  be  so  ungener- 
ous to  Hugh.  Have  you  forgotten  the  times  without 
number  he  paid  for  things  you  bought,  when  the  peo- 
ple threatened  to  send  the  bills  in  to  Father,  because 
you  said  it  would  break  Mother's  heart  ?  Have  you 
forgotten  how,  again  and  again,  some  little  comfort 
or  delicacy  Mother  needed,  has  come  in  from  him, 
*just,'  as  he  used  to  say,  'because  he  hapiDened  to 
meet  with  it  V  Ask  all  the  poor  toiling  men  and 
women  in  the  parish  whether  Hugh  Spencer  is  gener- 
ous or  not.  And  you  know  he  is  not  rich,  and  that 
his  father  never  allows  him  much." 

"  No  ;  I  believe  a  certain  carefulness  about  money 
is  hereditary  in  the  Spencer  family,"  Jack  replied. 

I  knew  he  felt  in  the  wrong,  because  he  was  so 
provoking.  If  I  could  only  have  been  quiet,  and  let 
the  conviction  work  !  But  my  heart  was  full,  and  my 
temper  was  up,  and  I  said, — 

"  Jack,  I  don't  know  what  you  will  come  to,  and 

what  you  will  bring  us  all  to.     The  Bible  says,  '  The 

toiclced  borroweth  and  payeth  not  again.'    You  seem 

to  have  no  honesty,  nor  gratitude,  nor  shame :  and 

12 


134  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  do  believe  you  will  end  in  breaking  Mother's 
heart." 

"  Whew  1"  said  Jack,  drawing  a  long  breath,  and 
for  a  moment  stopping  his  polishing  to  look  at  me. 
"  Whatever  sins  may  be  hereditary  with  the  Spencers, 
a  certain  peculiarity  of  temper  is  certainly  hereditary 
with  the  Trevylyans.  My  dear  Kitty,  Mother  is  com- 
ing into  the  kitchen,  and  as  you  are  so  apprehensive 
about  her  feelings,  I  recommend  you  to  withdraw. 
You  look  quite  excited.  No  doubt,"  he  added  de- 
murely, *'  as  Mother  used  to  say,  you  will  be  sorry  for 
this  to-morrow." 

And  I  had  to  withdraw,  for  I  could  not  stop  my 
tears,  and  what  is  worse,  I  shall  have  to  be  sorry  to- 
morrow, and  to  apologize  to  Jack ;  for  the  language 
I  used  was  certainly  unnecessarily  strong.  Unneces- 
sarily strong  as  regarded  the  immediate  occasion,  but 
as  regards  that  habit  of  his,  what  language  can  be 
too  strong  ?  And  what  an  opportunity  I  have  throwi^ 
away  of  helping  him  I 

It  was  only  yesterday  I  was  thinking  how  feeble 
my  convictions  of  sin  were  compared  with  Betty's ; 
and  I  had  resolved  next  Sunday  seriously  to  read 
Bishop  Taylor's  '*  Instruments,  by  way  of  Considera- 
tion, to  Awaken  a  Careless  Person  and  a  Stupid  Con- 
science," and  his  "  Form  of  Confession  of  Sins  and 
Repentance,  to  be  used  on  Fasting  Days."  But  now 
there  is  no  need  to  go  through  a  course  of  voluntary 
humiliation.  I  am  humbled  enough  in  Jack's  eyes  as 
well  as  in  my  own.  So  unworthy,  so  hasty,  so  pas- 
sionate, how  could  I  ever  think  of  setting  myself  up 
as  a  censor  of  other  people.  Perhaps  this  pride  and 
secret  self-satisfaction  is  the  beam  in  my  own  eye. 
Perhaps,  now  I  feel  how  really  blind  and  wrong  I  am, 


MRS.  JiriTTy   TItEVYLYAK.  135 

I  may  be  able  to  speak  to  Jack  to-morrow  with  more 
result.  For  lie  is  wrong  about  the  debts.  Perhaps 
when  I  speak  to  him  from  his  own  level,  as  no  better 
than  he  is,  though  in  a  different  way,  he  will  listen. 

It  is  of  no  use.  Jack  received  my  apologies  with  the 
graciousness  of  an  offended  but  merciful  sovereign. 

*'  Do  not  mention  such  a  trifle  again,  my  dear  littie 
Kitty.  We  all  get  a  little  excited  at  times ;  it  is  in 
the  family,  although,  perhaps,  I  am  not  so  mucn 
troubled  in  that  way  as  the  rest  of  you." 

And  when  I  made  one  more  feeble  attempt  to  make 
an  impression  on  him  about  the  debts,  he  stojDiDed  me 
with, — 

"  Perhaps  I  was  even  a  little  hot  myself  yesterday 
about  poor  Hugh.  Hugh  is  a  good  fellow  at  bottom. 
"We  all  have  our  little  peculiarities,  especially  about 
money.  I  only  meant  that  when  I  have  my  commis- 
sion, and  have  won  a  few  battles,  and  taken  one  or 
two  towns,  and  have  my  prize-money,  that  won't  be 
exactly  my  way.  An  open  heart  and  an  open  hand, 
Kitty,  that's  my  idea  of  a  Christian,  although  it  may 
make  one's  purse  a  little  low  at  times." 

And  he  kissed  me  benignantly,  and  went  away 
whistling,  "  Begone  dull  care." 

What  can  I  do  ?  It  is  plain  the  price  of  the  cherry- 
colored  bow  is  far  too  great  a  trifle  for  Jack's  "  open 
hand  "  to  contract  to  pick  up  and  retu  m. 

And  it  is  plain  that  he  considers  himself,  although 
probably  touched  with  a  little  of  general  infection 
of  the  sin  of  Adam,  quite  singularly  free  from  the 
peculiar  infirmities  of  the  Spencers,  and  the  Trevyl- 
yans,  and  every  one  else. 

And  it  is  plain  that  my  hands  are  by  no  means 


136  THE  DIARY  OF 

steady  enough  (even  if  my  eyes  were  clear  enough)  to 
take  the  mote  out  of  my  brother's  eye. 

Yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  as  if  those  habits  of  his 
were  like  the  little  low  clouds  gathering  far  out  in  the 
west, — ^like  the  little  uneasy  interrupted  gusts  of  wind 
which  come  when  we  are  to  have  a  storm, — ^like  the 
little  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  which  the 
prophet's  servant  saw,  when  the  heaven  was  so  soon 
to  be  black  with  clouds. 

I  should  make  a  bad  historian.  I  have  never  said 
a  word  about  our  journey  home  from  London. 

Not  that  there  is  much  to  tell,  because,  after  all, 
we  came  from  Bristol  by  sea.  Father  and  Hugh  Spen- 
cer and  I,  and  I  was  so  full  of  the  thought  of  home, 
that  I  did  not  observe  anything  particularly.  The 
chief  thing  I  remember  is  a  conversation  I  had  with 
Hugh. 

It  was  a  calm  evening.  Father  had  rolled  himself 
lip  in  his  old  military  cloak  with  a  foraging  cap  half 
over  his  eyes,  and  Hugh  and  I  were  standing  by  the 
rdde  of  the  ship  watching  the  trail  of  strange  light 
she  seemed  to  make  in  the  waves.  There  was  no  one 
olse  on  deck  but  the  man  at  the  helm,  and  an  old 
sailor  mending  some  ropes  by  the  last  glimmerings 
of  daylight,  and  humming  in  a  low  voice  to  himself 
what  seemed  like  an  attempt  at  a  jDsalm  tune. 

''  Do  you  know  what  he  is  singing  ?"  Hugh  asked. 

"  Not  from  the  tune.  I  do  not  see  how  any  one 
'jould  ;  but  the  quaverings  seem  of  a  religious  char- 
acter, like  what  the  old  people  sing  in  the  church." 

"  It  is  a  Methodist  hymn,"  Hugh  said.  "  He  said 
it  through  to  me  this  morning."  Hugh  always  has 
a  'VNay  of  getting  into  the  confidence  of  working  men, 


3fBS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAN;  1S7 

especially  of  sea-faring  people.  The  old  man  hacl 
been  in  the  ship  which  took  Mr.  John  Wesley  and 
Mr.  Charles  Wesley  to  America.  Several  religious 
people  were  there  also  from  Germany,  going  out  as 
missionaries.  They  called  themselves  Moravians.  At 
first  he  despised  them  all  for  a  foolish  psalm-singing 
set.  But  they  encountered  a  great  storm  on  the  At- 
lantic, and  the  old  sailor  said  he  should  never  forget 
the  fearless  calm  among  these  Christian  people  during 
the  danger.  "  It  was,"  he  said,  "  as  if  they  had  fair 
weather  of  God's  making  around  them,  be  the  sides 
as  foul  as  they  might."  He  could  never  rest  until  he 
found  out  their  secret.  When  he  went  ashore  he  at- 
tended the  Methodist  meetings  everywhere,  *'and 
now,"  he  said,  "  thank  the  Lord  and  Parson  Wesley, 
my  feet  are  on  the  Rock  aboard  or  ashore." 

"  These  Methodists  find  their  way  eveiywhere 
Hugh,"  I  said.  "It  does  seem  as  if  God  blessed 
their  work  more  than  any  one's." 

"And  what  wonder,"  he  said;  "who  work  as  they 
do  ?" 

"  But  so  many  people — even  good  people — appear 
to  be  afraid  of  them,"  I  said.  "  Are  they  not  some- 
times too  violent?  Do  they  not  sometimes  make 
mistakes  ?" 

"  No  doubt  they  do,"  he  said.  "  All  the  men  who 
have  done  great  and  good  work  in  the  world  have 
made  mistakes,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  It  is  only  the 
easy,  cautious  people  who  sit  still  and  do  nothing, 
who  make  no  mistakes,  unless,"  he  added,  "  their 
whole  lives  are  one  great  mistake,  which  seems  prob 
able.'" 

And  then  he  told  me  something  of  what  he  had 
seen  in  the  world  and  at  Oxford ;  how  utterly  God 

1  o* 


138  THE  DIARY  OF 

seemed  forgotten  everywhere ;  how  scarcely  disguised 
infidelity  spoke  from  the  pulpits,  and  vices  not  dis- 
guised at  all  paraded  in  high  places;  how  in  the 
midst  of  this  John  and  Charles  Wesley  had  stood 
apart,  and  resolved  to  live  to  serve  God  and  do  good 
to  men ;  how  they  had  struggled  long  in  the  twilight 
of  a  dark  but  lofty  mysticism,  until  they  had  learned 
to  know  how  God  has  loved  us  from  everlasting,  and 
loves  us  now,  and  how  Christ  forgives  sins  now ;  and 
then,  full  of  the  joyful  tidings,  had  gladly  abandoned 
all  the  hopes  of  earthly  ambition  for  the  glorious 
ambition  of  being  ambassadors  for  Christ  to  win 
rebellious  and  wretched  men  back  to  Him. 

"  Morning,  noon,  and  evening,"  he  said,  "  John 
Wesley  goes  about  proclaiming  the  tidings  of  great 
joy  in  Ireland,  America,  throughout  England,  among 
colliers,  miners,  and  slaves ;  in  prisons,  to  condemned 
criminals ;  in  hospitals,  to  the  sick ;  in  market- 
places, pelted  with  stones ;  in  churches,  threatened 
with  imprisonment ;  reviled  by  clergymen,  assaulted 
by  mobs,  and  arraigned  by  magistrates.  They  go 
on  loving  the  world  that  casts  them  out,  and  con- 
stantly drawing  souls  out  of  the  world  to  God  to  be 
blessed." 

"  It  seems  like  the  Apostles,"  I  said.  "It  is  won- 
derful." 

*'  Kitty,"  he  said  fervently,  "  when  I  tliink,  I  can 
not  wonder  at  it.  The  wonder  seems  to  me  that  we 
should  wonder  at  it  so  much.  If  we  believe  the 
Bible  at  all ;  if  not  now  and  then  by  some  strange 
chance,  but  steadily,  surely,  incessantly,  the  whole 
world  of  living  men  and  women  arc  passing  on  to 
death,  sinking  into  unutterable  woe  or  rising  into  in- 
&iite  inconceivable  joy ;   and  if  wc  h^ve  it  in  our 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  139 

power  to  tell  them  the  truths,  which,  if  they  believe 
it,  really  will  make  all  the  difference  to  them  for 
ever,  and  if  we  find  they  really  will  listen,  what  is 
there  to  be  compared  with  the  joy  of  telling  these 
truths  ?  And  the  people  do  listen  to  Whitefield  and 
"Wesley.  Think  what  it  must  be  to  see  ten  thousand 
people  before  you  smitten  with  a  deadly  pestilence, 
and  to  tell  them  of  the  remedy — the  immediate 
remedy,  which  never  failed.  Think  what  it  must  be 
to  stand  before  thousands  of  wretched  slaves  with 
the  ransom-money  for  all  in  your  hand,  and  the  title- 
deeds  of  an  inheritance  for  each.  Think  what  it 
must  be  to  see  a  multitude  of  haggard,  starving  men 
and  women  before  you  with  the  power  such  as  our 
Lord  had  of  supplying  them  all  with  bread  here  in 
the  wilderness,  and  to  see  them  one  by  one  pressing 
to  you  and  taking  the  bread  and  eating  it,  and  to  see 
the  dull  eye  brightening,  color  returning  to  the  wan 
cheek,  life  to  the  failing  limbs.  Think  what  it  would 
be  to  go  to  a  crowd  of  destitute  orphans  and  to  be 
able  to  say  to  each  of  them,  '  It  is  a  mistake,  you  are 
not  fatherless.  I  have  a  message  for  every  one  of  you 
from  your  own  Father,  who  is  waiting  to  take  you  to 
His  heart.'  Oh  !  Kitty,  if  there  is  such  a  message  as 
this  to  take  to  all  the  poor,  sorrowing,  bewildered, 
famished,  perishing  men  and  women  in  the  world, 
and  if  you  can  get  them  to  listen  and  believe  it,  is  it 
any  wonder  that  any  man  with  a  heart  in  him  should 
think  it  the  happiest  lot  on  earth  to  go  and  do  it, 
night  and  day,  north  and  south,  in  the  crowded 
market-places,  and  in  every  neglected  corner  where 
there  is  a  human  being  to  listen  ?" 

"  I  thiQk  not,  indeed,"  I  said ;  "  but  the  difficulty 


140  THE  DIARY  OF 

seems  to  me  to  get  people  to  believe  that  they  are 
orphans,  and  slaves,  and  famishing." 

"  That  is  what  Whitefield  and  the  Wesleys  do,"  he 
said.  "  Or  rather  they  made  them  understand  that 
the  faintness  every  one  feels  at  times  is  hunger,  and 
that  there  is  bread ;  that  the  cramping  restraint,  the 
uneasy  pressure  we  so  often  feel,  are  from  the  fetters 
of  a  real  bondage,  and  that  they  can  be  struck  off; 
that  the  bewildered,  homeless  desolation  so  many  are 
conscious  of  is  the  desolation  of  orphanhood,  and 
that  we  have  a  Father  who  has  reconciled  us  to  him- 
self through  the  blood  of  the  Cross." 

As  Hugh  spoke,  a  selfish  anxiety  crept  over  me, 
and  I  said, — 

"  Shall  you  go  then,  Hugh,  and  forsake  everything 
to  tell  the  good  tidings  far  and  wide  ?" 

"  If  I  am  called,"  he  said,  "  must  I  not  go  ?" 

"  But  how  can  you  know  you  are  called  ?"  I  said. 

*'  To  have  the  bread  of  life  to  give  is  one  call,"  he 
said ;  "  to  be  able  to  go  is  another ;  to  be  willing  to 
go  is  a  third.  If  I  had  these  three  calls,  Kitty,  I  must 
listen ;  the  vocation  in  the  word  of  God  to  proclaim 
it,  the  vocation  in  my  heart,  the  vocation  of  Provi- 
dence." 

"Have  you  these  three,  Hugh?"  I  said,  feeling 
half  afraid  he  had. 

"  I  think  I  have,  except  the  call  of  Providence, 
Kitty.  I  cannot  see  that  it  would  be  right  to  go 
directly  counter  to  my  father's  will ;  otherwise  I 
think  I  am  ready  to  go." 

My  heart  was  heavy.  Would  he  then  leave  us  all 
BO  easily  ?" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  the  waves  plashed  around 
us  and  closed  in  after  us  as  we  cut  through  them, 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAK,  141 

with  a  sound  which  in  the  morning  light  would  hare 
been  crisp  and  fresh,  and  exhilarating ;  now,  in  the 
dimness  and  stillness  of  night,  it  seemed  to  me 
strange,  and  dull,  and  awful.  And  I  thought  not  so 
much  of  the  waves  we  were  bounding  over  and  part- 
ing before  us  like  the  future,  like  life ;  but  of  the 
waves  which  were  closing  in  on  us  like  the  past,  like 
death.  It  gave  me  a  sad  lonely  feeling  as  I  thought 
how  Hugh  and  I  were  standing  there  together,  and 
had  been  together  all  our  lives,  and  how  soon  all  the 
sweet  familiar  past  might  slip  aw^ay  from  us  into  the 
darkness  like  the  sea  behind  us,  leaving  at  first  a 
little  furrow  and  a  track  of  foam,  but  very  soon  no 
track  at  all, — and  that  Hugh  seemed  to  care  no  more 
than  the  sea.  It  felt  very  cold  and  desolate.  I  had 
been  picturing  life  to  myself  as  a  quiet  river,  alvfays 
passing  on  indeed,  but  flowing  by  familiar  places, 
with  its  own  fountains,  its  own  hills,  its  own  little 
meadow  banks  to  water,  and  keep  green,  its  own 
welcome  at  last  to  the  sea.  And  was  life  instead  to 
be  the  mere  crossing  of  a  great  dreary  sea,  with  one 
wave  like  another,  and  one  great  round  space  like 
another,  one  horizon  like  another,  except  for  more  or 
less  of  heat  and  cold,  or  more  or  less  of  storm  or 
calm? 

Ought  all  places  to  religious  people  to  be  alike, — 
mere  spaces  of  this  great  featureless  ocean  we  have  to 
cross  ?  Ought  all  human  beings  to  be  alike  to  us, 
just  masses  of  undistinguishable  "  immortal  souls  ?" 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  my  heart  felt  at  discord 
with  Hugh's,  I  scarcely  knew  why.  A  cold  shadow 
seemed  to  have  come  between  us,  and  if  it  Was  reli- 
gion that  cast  it,  it  was  wrong  to  wish  it  away. 

But  was  it  religion,  I  questioned  myself?  or  was  it 


143  MRS,  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-, 

rigM  ?  Certainly  all  people  had  not  tlie  same  space 
or  the  same  place  in  St.  Paul's  heart.  Only  see  the 
greetings  at  the  end  of  the  epistles.  And  our  blessed 
Lord  himself,  if  He  loved  all  equally,  surely  loved 
each  differently,  each  with  His  own  piece  of  love,  with 
a  peculiar,  recognizing,  watchful,  personal  affection, 
which  was  for  that  one,  and  no  one  else  ! 

Perhaps  Hugh  was  feeling  in  some  way  as  I  did, 
for  after  that  silence  he  said  softly, — 

"  Perhaps  I  was  deceiving  myself.  Perhaps  it  is 
just  because  there  is  that  barrier  in  my  way  that  I 
have  been  fancying  I  should  be  willing  to  go  if  there 
were  not." 

Then  he  began  to  be  afraid  I  felt  the  night  air 

chill,  and  brought  me  a  little  seat,  and  placed  it  at 

Father's  side,  and  wrapped  me  up  in  all  the  warm 

Traps  he  could  find.    And  we  neither  of  uf»  said 

anything  more  that  nigh*. 


V. 


fHAVE  had  a  great  pleasure  to-day.  A  letter 
from  Cousin  Evelj^n,  the  first  letter  I  ever  re- 
ceived, except  two  from  jMother  in  London; 
and  the  very  first  I  ever  received  at  home  from  any 
one.  It  has,  already,  I  believe,  greatly  increased  my 
consequence  in  Betty's  eyes.  I  was  shelling  peas  in 
the  kitchen  window  when  a  gentleman  on  horseback 
rode  up  and  asked  Betty,  who  was  scrubbing  down 
the  window-sill,  if  Miss  Trevylyan  lived  there. 

"  What  new-fangled  title  is  that  V  muttered  Betty. 
Miss  Trevylyan,  indeed !  if  it  is  our  Mrs.  Kitty  you 
mean,  she  is  there,  and  you  can  speak  to  herself." 

(Betty's  temper  has  not  improved  lately;  and  she 
has  relapsed  into  impenetrable  silence  about  herself.) 

Taking  off  his  hat  with  a  bow,  the  horseman 
handed  me,  through  the  open  window,  a  letter  which 
EveljTi  had  addressed  in  the  new  style. 

It  would  have  reached  me  before,  he  said,  only  it 
had  met  with  many  misadventures. 

The  King's  mail  had  been  robbed  on  Hounslow 
Heath ;  and  although  the  "  gentlemen  of  the  road" 
had  most  politely  restored  the  letters  after  rifling  the 
bags  of  their  pecuniary  contents,  the  postman  had 
been  wounded  in  the  fray,  and  this  had  caused  a  de- 
lay of  some  days.     Then  there  had  been  a  flood  over 


144  THE  DIARY  OF 

dome  part  oftlie  road  which  had  riwept  away  the 
bridges ;  and  finally,  when  the  letter  reached  Fal- 
mouth, the  Farmer's  lad,  to  whose  care  it  had  been 
committed,  after  carrying  it  about  some  days  in  his 
pocket,  for-got  for  whom  it  was  meant,  and  not  being 
able  to  read,  judiciously  carried  it  back  to  the  post- 
office  nearest  him ;  and  there  it  might  have  been  lying 
for  no  one  knows  how  much  lunger,  had  not  the  gentle- 
man who  gave  it  to  me  politely  volunteered  to  take 
it  to  its  destination  on  his  way  to  his  home  further 
west. 

The  unusual  clatter  of  horse's  hoofs  had  brought 
Father  into  the  court,  and  notning  would  satisfy  him 
but  that  the  stranger  should  have  his  horse  put  up 
and  remain  to  dinner  with  us.  And  then  he  had 
much  to  tell  that  interested  Father  and  Jack.  Thus 
it  was  two  or  three  hours  longer  before  I  could  open 
the  precious  packet. 

Jack  listened  eagerly  to  all  the  stranger's  news,  and 
sighed  for  the  commission  which  was  to  open  the 
world  to  him. 

Father  heard  his  narrative  with  very  mingled  emo- 
tions. He  was  cheered  to  think  that  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland  had  put  down  "  those  canting  Scotch  ;" 
but  his  satisfaction  was  diminished  by  the  military 
successes  of  those  "  rascally  French."  "  We  taught 
them  another  lesson,  sir,"  he  said,  "  in  Marlborough's 
days."  He  broke  into  many  strong  military  exj^res- 
sions  at  the  thought  of  the  troops  of  "  beggarly  Ger- 
mans" v/ho  had  come  over  in  the  train  of  the  Hano- 
verian King. 

He  syuij)athized  with  the  London  mob  who,  when 
the  Hanoverian  court-lady  dejirecated  their  wrath  by 
exclaiming  in  apologetic   tones  from  her  carnage 


MliS.  KITTY  TI^EVYLYAN.  14o 

^nndow,  "My  dear  people  we  come  for  all  your 
goods,"  retorted,  "  Yes,  confound  you,  and  for  our 
chattels  too."  He  was  disgusted  with  the  Pretender 
parading  as  a  hero  at  the  Paris  opera-house,  on  the 
strength  of  the  brave  deeds  of  the  Highland  chiefs 
who  were  being  hanged  for  his  sake  at  Tyburn.  But 
he  consoled  himself  by  thinking  it  was  just  like  those 
"  confounded  Papists,"  and  drinking  to  the  Protest- 
tant  Succession.  But,  again,  his  loyalty  was  sorely 
tried  by  the  tales  of  the  quarrels  between  the  King 
and  the  Piince  of  Wales,  and  other  court  scandals  I 
do  not  care  to  write.  "  Terrible  times,  sir,"  he  said ; 
"  the  country  in  the  hands  of  scoundrelly  foreigners, 
£^nd  the  county  jails  full  of  villainous  poachers,  who 
will  poach  again,  sir,  the  instant  their  punishment  is 
over.  Sir,  we  are  going  to  destruction  as  fast  as 
Jacobites  and  Whigs  can  carry  us."  He  was  in  some 
measure  restored  to  hope  by  hearing  of  certain  printers 
who  had  been  compelled  to  apologize  on  their  knees 
on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Lords  for  venturing  to 
print  reports  of  the  debates  in  the  Lords  and  Com- 
mons. "  Low  fellows  like  them,"  he  said,  "  daring  to 
report  the  words  of  gentlemen !" 

But  his  spirits  were  again  depressed  by  hearing  of 
Methodist  lay  preachers,  who  drew  crowds  around 
them  in  every  county,  from  Northumberland  to  the 
Land's  End.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "in  my  time  we  should 
have  made  quick  work  with  idle  fellows  who  left  the 
plough,  or  the  mason's  trowel,  or  the  tailor's  goose, 
to  preach  whatever  canting  trash  they  pleased.  We 
should  have  dispersed  the  congregation,  sir,  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet,  and  set  the  preacher  in  the 
stocks  to  meditate  on  his  next  sermon.     Sir,  tho 


13 


146  THE  DIARY  OF 

Papists  manage  to  keep  down  such  seditions  fanatics ; 
and  shall  we  be  outdone  by  the  Papists  ?" 

"  No  doubt,  sir,"  replied  the  stranger ;  "  but  would 
you  believe  it,  on  my  way  here  I  met  a  fellow  who  is 
reported  to  be  one  of  the  worst  among  them,  John 
Nelson,  the  Yorkshireman,  who  told  me  he  had  met 
Squire  Trevylyan,  and  that  he  was  a  most  hospitable 
gentleman ;  for  he  had  given  him  the  pasty  he  was 
carrying  for  his  own  dinner,  and  had  invited  him  to 
take  his  bread-and-cheese  and  beer  at  his  house  when- 
ever he  came  that  way." 

Father  looked  perplexed  for  a  moment  at  the  con- 
trast between  his  fierce  denunciations  against  the 
Methodists  in  general,  and  his  tolerance  of  the  only 
Methodist  he  had  encountered  in  particular,  but  he 
soon  rallied. 

**  Sir,"  he  said,  "  that  fellow  is  a  true-bom  English- 
man, as  true  to  the  Church  and  King  as  you  or  I.  A  fel- 
low, too,  with  such  a  chest  and  such  muscle  as  would 
be  worth  the  King  a  troop  of  those  beggarly  Hessians 
you  spoke  of.  And  he  had  been  knocked  down  and 
trampled  on  by  a  mob  of  cowardly  rufBans,  just  before 
I  saw  him.  Sir,  they  knocked  him  down,  and  beat 
and  kicked  him  till  the  breath  was  well-nigh  out  of  him, 
and  his  head  bleeding ;  and  then  they  dragged  him 
along  the  stones  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  and  would  have 
thrown  him  into  a  draw-well,  but  for  a  high-spirited 
woman  who  stood  by  the  well  and  pushed  several  of  the 
cowardly  bullies  down.  I  would  take  off  my  hat  to  that 
woman  as  soon  as  to  the  King.  And  then  ho  got  up 
and  vciy  soon  mounted  his  horse  again,  and  rode 
forty  miles  that  very  day  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Sir,  it  is  not  in  any  Englishman,  least  of  all  in  an  old 
soldier  of  the  Duke's,  not  to  honor  that  brave  fellow. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAX.  147 

Besides,  he  was  hungry;  and  would  you  have  a 
Cornish  gentleman  turn  a  hungry  traveller  from  his 
door  ?  Not  if  he  were  the  Pope  himself,  or  the  Pre- 
tender !  Is  it  my  fault  if  he  preaches  w^hat  the  par- 
sons don't  like  on  the  strength  of  my  pasty  ?  Tha,t 
fellow  is  no  hypocrite,  sir ;  I  give  my  word  of  honor 
for  it.  A  fellow  with  such  a  stout  heart,  and  chest, 
and  the  voice  of  a  lion !  Besides,"  continued 
father  softly,  with  some  reserve,  "  I  assure  you  what 
he  said  to  me  afterwards  was  excellent ;  none  of  your 
canting  phrases,  but  plain  sense  about  believing  in 
our  Saviour,  and  doing  our  duty.  Upon  my  honor," 
continued  Father,  with  increasing  earnestness,  "  I  felt 
the  better  for  it.  He  said  very  plain  things  to  me, 
such  as  a  man  does  not  often  hear ;  things,  sir,  that 
we  shall  all  have  to  remember  one  day ;  and  I  feel 
grateful  to  the  man  for  his  honest,  faithful  words, 
and  I  trust  I  shall  not  forget  them.  An  old  soldier 
has  not  a  few  thmgs  he  might  be  glad  to  unlearn, 
and  would  like  to  be  sure  will  not  be  remembered 
against  him." 

The  simple  humility  and  earnestness  of  Father's 
manner  put  a  stop  to  all  further  jesting  ;  and  before 
long  the  stranger,  respectfully  saluting  him,  went  off 
with  Jack  to  saddle  his  horse,  and  I  was  free  to  fly  to 
my  chamber  and  open 

COUSIN'  EVELYN'S  LETTER. 

"  My  Dearly-beloved  Cousin  Kitty, — I  suppose  you 
have  no  more  idea  how  we  missed  your  dear,  tender, 
soft,  quiet,  quaint,  wdse,  comfortable,  little  self,  than 
a  fire  has  how  cold  the  room  is  when  it  goes  out. 
Mamma  moaned  for  you  more  than  she  did  for  the 
poodle  that  was  drowned  in  the  soup-tureen;   she 


t48  TUB  DIARY  OF 

fancied  you  sliivermg  on  the  Cornish  moors  honey- 
combed, as  she  understands  they  are,  with  fearful 
abysses,  your  life  endangered  by  grimy  miners,  your 
complexion  by  the  sea-air ;  and  she  wondered  in  the 
first  place  how  you  grew  up  at  all ;  and  in  the  sec- 
ond, how  you  could  possibly  grow  to  be  what  you 
are  amidst  the  perils  of  that  vast  howling  wilderness, 
or,  indeed,  to  be  anything  beyond  the  level  of  a  Red 
Indian. 

*'  Aunt  Henderson,  whom  I  have  seen  twice,  regrets 
you  should  be  again  in  the  darkness  of  a  country  she 
has  heard  to  be  little  better  than  heathen ;  but  hopes 
that  the  sound  teaching  you  received  at  Hackney 
may  be  of  some  use  to  her  '  poor  Sister  Trevylyan, 
who  had  so  few  privileges." 

"  Harry  swears  if  Mother  will  find  him  a  girl  like 
Kitty  he  will  marry  her  to-morrow ;  but  how  much 
he  brings  you  forward  as  a  golden  back-ground 
to  throw  out  the  strong  colors  on  which  he  paints 
the  '  simpering  heaps  of  gauze  and  brocade,'  re- 
commended to  his  attention,  I  will  not  undertake 
to  say. 

"  Papa  roams  about  as  unsettled  as  when  anything 
detains  him  in  London  during  the  sporting  season. 
He  says  you  are  a  girl  of  the  old  style,  such  as  he 
remembers  when  he  was  young;  not  too  clever  to 
make  a  sensible  man's  home  haj)py,  '  although  he 
may  not  be  able  to  talk  like  a  Frenchman  about 
the  fashions,  or  like  an  Italian  adventurer  about 
operas  and  pictures,  or  like  a  Bishop  about  religion.' 

"But  this  again,  Kitty,  must  not  make  you  too 
conceited,  as  your  excellencies  serve  to  barb  a  dart  at 
me,  in  reference  to  a  neigboring  potentate,  whose 
estates  march  with  those  of  the  Beauchamps,  but 


MliS.  KITTY  TBEVrLYAK  149 

whose  manners  do  not  *  march '  with  your  corre- 
spondent's tastes. 

"  From  the  silent  homage  rendered  to  your  memory 
by  Mamma's  maid,  and  by  Aunt  Jeanie,  the  tongue 
of  Detraction  herself  can,  however,  detract  nothing. 
Mamma's  maid  has  recourse  to  genuine  Devonshire, 
and  a  genuine  pocket-handkerchief  to  prevent  gen- 
uine tears  from  spoiling  the  powder  of  Mamma's 
hair  as  she  falters  out  the  praises  of  Hhe  nicest 
and  most  affable  young  lady  she  ever  set  eyes  on.' 
And  Aunt  Jeanie  soars  high  into  Scotch  and  the 
Bible,  as  she  tells  how  the  winsome  lassie,  the  tender 
lammie,  came  day  after  day  to  listen  to  an  old  wife 
like  herself;  and  how  you  made  her  feel  as  if  the 
air  of  the  Highlands  was  breathing  fresh  on  her 
face  once  more,  and  the  voices  of  old  times  were  in 
her  ears. 

"  Oh,  Kitty  darling,  I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the 
world  to  carry  with  me  the  fresh  air  you  bring 
everywhere !  There  is  something  about  you,  you 
little  witch,  as  much  sweeter  and  more  exhilarating 
than  all  the  wit,  and  fashion,  and  cleverness  of  our 
London  world,  as  the  country  air  on  a  spring  morn- 
ing is  sweeter  than  all  the  perfumes  of  a  London 
drawing-room.  What  is  it,  Kitty,  except  that  yon 
are  just  your  natural  sweet  self?  Yes,  there  is  no 
perfume  like  freshness !  and  there  is  no  moral  or 
mental  perfume  like  truth  ! 

"  And  that  is  just  the  explanation  of  some  of  my 
difficulties.  Cousin  Kitty ;  for  I  Tiaw  my  difficulties, 
Kitty.  Life — I  mean  the  inner,  religious  life — is  not 
so  smooth  to  me  as  you  may  think,  as  I  thought  it 
must  be  always  henceforth  when  I  heard  that  won- 
derful sermon  of  Mr.  Whitefield's.  Or  rather,  it  is 
13* 


l^^  TUE  DIARY  OF 

not  liv.  plain.  For  I  did  expect  roughnesses,  more 
perbajt>s  than  I  have  met  with  ;  but  I  did  not  expect 
perplexities  such  as  I  feel. 

"  My  difficulties  are  not  interesting,  elevating  dif- 
ficulties, Kitty,  such  as  would  draw  forth  sweet  tears 
of  sympathy  and  smiles  of  tender  encouragement  at 
some  of  the  religious  tea  parties.  No  one  has  taken 
the  trouble  to  make  me  a  martyr.  I  should  rather 
have  enjoyed  a  little  more  of  that,  which  is,  per- 
haps, the  reason  I  have  not  had  it.  Mamma  was  a 
little  uneasy  at  first ;  but  when  she  found  I  did  not 
wish  to  dress  like  a  Quaker  or  to  preach  publicly 
from  a  tub,  she  was  relieved,  and  seems  rather  to 
think  me  improved.  Harry  says  all  girls  are  sure 
to  ruu  into  some  folly  or  another,  if  they  don't 
marry,  and  probably  even  if  they  do  ;  and  some  new 
whim  irf  sure  soon  to  drive  out  this.  Papa  says 
women  must  have  their  amusements ;  and  if  I  like 
going  to  see  the  old  women  at  the  manor,  and  taking 
them  biuth  and  reading  them  the  Bible,  better  than 
riding  a  thousand  miles  for  a  wager,  as  a  young  lady 
did  the  other  day,  he  thinks  it  is  the  more  sensible 
diversiou  of  the  two.  His  mother  gave  the  people 
broth  and  bitters,  and  probably  they  like  the  Bible 
better  than  the  bitters.  I  am  a  good  child  on  the 
whole,  he  says ;  and  if  I  ride  to  the  meet  with  him 
in  the  country,  and  give  myself  no  sanctimonious 
airs,  he  cannot  object  to  my  amusing  myself  as  I  like 
in  town.  Indeed,  he  said  one  day  he  thought  Lady 
Huntingdon's  preachings  were  far  better  tilings  for 
a  young  woman  to  hear,  than  the  scandalous  nonsense 
those  Italian  fellows  squalled  at  the  opera.  But, 
Kitty,  although  he  talks  so  lightly,  do  you  know,  the 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  151 

otiier  evening,  as  lie  had  taken  his  candle  and  was 
kissing  me  good-night,  he  said — 

"  '  By  the  way,  Eve,  if  you  don't  fancy  going  with 
me  all  the  way  to-morrow,  I'll  drop  you  at  the  game- 
keeper's lodge  beyond  the  wood.  His  old  woman  is 
very  ill,  and  she  says  you  told  her  something  that 
cheered  her  heart  up  ;  so  you  might  as  well  go  again. 
She  is  an  honest  old  soul,  and  she  says  you  remnnded 
her  of  your  Aunt  Maud  who  died,  and  she  was  a  good 
woman,  if  ever  there  was  one.' 

"  So  you  see,  Cousin  Kitty,  I  have  little  chance  of 
martyrdom. 

"  My  difficulties  are  from  the  religious  people 
themselves.  There  seems  to  me  so  much  fashion, 
so  much  phraseology,  so  much  cutting  and  shaping, 
as  if  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  were  to  be  artificial 
wax  fruits,  instead  of  real,  living,  natural  fruits. 

"  With  you,  Kitty,  it  is  so  different.  You  like 
what  you  like,  and  love  those  you  love,  and  not 
merely  try  to  like  what  you  ought  to  like,  and  to 
work  yourself  up  to  something  like  love  for  those 
you  ought  to  love. 

"  I  find  it  difficult  to  explain  myself.  AYhat  I 
feel  is,  that  religious  people,  no  doubt  from  really 
high  motives,  are  apt  to  become  unnatural — to  lose 
spontaneousness. 

"  I  do  not  see  this  in  Mr.  Whitefield  and  Lady 
Huntingdon,  or  in  Aunt  Jeanie,  nor,  my  sweet  Cou- 
sin, in  you.  Lady  Huntingdon  is  a  queen, no  doubt; 
but  we  must  have  kings  and  queens.  But  it  is 
the  foUcncers  of  Mr.  Whitefield,  the  ladies  who  form 
Lady  Huntingdon's  court,  that  trouble  me  in  this 
way. 

"  There   is   a   cutting    down,   a   rounding  off,   a 


163  THE  DIARY  OF 

clipping  into  shape,  like  the  cypresses  in  the  Dutch 
gardens,  and  a  suspicious  uneasiness  about  any  sell- 
willed  shoot  which  asserts  its  right  to  sprout  beyond 
the  prescribed  curves,  w^hich  provokes  me  beyond 
measure. 

"  I  feel  sometimes  in  those  circles  as  if  I  were 
being  put  in  a  mortar  and  pestled  into  a  sweetmeat ; 
as  if  all  the  natural  color  in  me  were  being  insensibly 
toned  down  to  the  uniform  gray ;  as  if  all  the  natural 
tones  of  my  voice  were  being  in  spite  of  me  pitched 
to  a  chant,  like  the  intoning  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
priests.  It  is  very  strange  this  tendency  all  religious 
schools  seem  to  have  towards  monotone  and  uniform, 
from  the  Papists  to  the  Quakers.  And  in  the  Bible 
it  seems  to  me,  there  is  as  little  of  it  as  in  nature. 

"  I  was  becoming  very  rebellious  when  at  Bath, 
before  we  escaped  into  the  free,  natural  country  life ; 
and  now  that  we  are  in  London  once  more,  it  is 
coming  over  me  again  like  a  terrible  spell.  But  I 
am  determined  I  will  not  be  pestled  into  a  sweet- 
meat I  The  great  fear  is,  that  I  shall  ferment  myself 
into  an  acid. 

"  But  if  I  could  only  keep  close  to  God  himself,  to 
my  glorious  Saviour,  to  his  free  Spirit,  there  could 
be  no  danger  of  either. 

*'  The  following  of  Christ  is  freedom,  expansion,  and 
growth.  The  following  of  his  followers  is  copying, 
imitation,  contraction.  And  it  is  to  the  following 
of  Christ,  close,  always^  with  nothing  and  no  person 
between,  that  we  are  called,  all  of  us,  the  youngest, 
the  weakest,  the  meanest.  You  and  I,  Kitty  1  as 
well  as  Lady  Huntingdon,  and  Mr.  Whiteficld,  and 
Mr.  Wesley,  and  St.  Paul. 

"  And  Christ  our  Lord,  if  we  yield  ourselves  hon 


MRS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN,  153 

estly,  wholly  to  Mm,  will  develop  our  hearts  and 
souls  from  within,  outward  and  upward  from  the 
root,  which  is  growing  ;  instead  of  our  having  to  trim 
and  clip  them  from  outside  inward,  which  is  stunting. 
He  will  give  to  each  seed  *his  own  body.'  Is  it  not 
true,  Kitty  ?  I  want  very  much  to  have  a  talk  with 
you,  for  I  cannot  find  other  people's  thoughts  and 
ways  fit  me,  any  more  than  their  clothes ;  and  I  want 
to  know  how  much  of  this  is  wrong,  and  how  much 
is  right. 

"  For  instance,  the  other  evening  Lady  Emily — 

"  I  had  written  so  far,  when  an  opportunity  oc- 
curred of  going  to  hear  Mr.  John  Wesley  preach  at 
the  Foundry.  The  sermon  seemed  made  for  me.  It 
was  on  evil-speaking  ;  and  veiy  pungent  and  useful 
I  found  it,  I  assure  you. 

"  Such  an  angelic  face,  Kitty  ! — the  expression 
so  calm  and  lofty,  the  features  so  refined  and  defined, 
regular  and  delicate,  just  the  face  that  makes  you 
sure  his  Mother  was  a  beautiful  woman  (one  of  his 
Aunts  was  painted  by  Sir  Peter  Lely  as  one  of  the 
beauties  of  the  clay.)  Yet  there  is  nothing  feminine 
about  it,  unless  as  far  as  an  angel's  face  may  or  must 
be  partly  feminine.  Eyes  not  appealing  but  com- 
manding ;  the  delicate  mouth  firm  as  a  Roman 
general's ;  self-control,  as  the  secret  of  all  other 
control,  stamped  on  every  feature.  If  anything  is 
wanting  in  the  face  and  manner,  it  seemed  to  me  just 
that  nothing  was  wanting — that  it  was  too  angelic. 
You  could  not  detect  the  weak,  soft  place,  where  he 
would  need  to  lean  instead  of  to  support.  He 
seemed  to  speak  almost  too  much  from  heaven  ;  not, 
indeed,  as  one  that  had  not  known  the  experiences 


154  THE  DIARY  OF 

of  earth  (there  was  the  keenest  peuetration  and  the 
deepest  sympathy  in  his  words),  but  as  one  who  had 
surmounted  them  all.  The  glow  on  his  countenance 
was  the  steady  sunlight  of  benevolence,  rather  than 
the  tearful,  trembling,  intermittent  sunshine  of  affec- 
tion, with  its  hopes  and  fears.  The  few  lines  on  his 
brow  were  the  lines  of  effective  thought,  not  of 
anxious  solicitude.  If  I  were  on  a  sick-bed  in  the 
ward  of  an  hospital,  I  should  bask  in  the  holy  bene- 
volent look  as  in  the  smile  of  an  angel ;  but  I  do  not 
know  that  he  would  (perhaps  could)  be  tenderer  if  I 
were  his  sister  at  home. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  Mr.  Wesley  preach  every 
Sunday ;  he  would  send  me  home  detected  in  my  in- 
most infirmities,  unmasked  to  myself,  humbled  with 
the  conviction  of  sin,  and  inspired  with  the  assurance 
of  victory. 

*'  And  yet  if  on  Monday  I  came  to  ask  his  advice 
in  a  diflSculty,  I  am  not  quite  sure  he  would  under- 
stand me.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  would  not  come 
nearer  my  heart  in  the  pulpit  than  in  the  house ;  that 
while  he  makes  me  feel  singled  out  and  found  out, 
as  if  I  were  his  only  hearer  in  the  crowd,  if  I  were 
really  alone  with  him  I  should  not  feel  that  he 
regarded  me  rather  as  a  unit  in  '  the  great  multitude 
no  man  can  number,'  than  as  myself,  and  no  one 
else. 

"  But  I  am  running  away  from  his  sermon,  as  if  I 
winced  from  it,  as  I  did. 

"  He  began  with  the  words — 

"  *  Speak  evil  of  no  man,'  says  the  great  apostle— 
*as  plain  a  command  as  **Thou  shalt  do  no  murder." 
But  who,  even  among  Christians,  regard  this  com- 
mand ?    Yea  how  few  are  there  that  so  much  as  un- 


3/7?^.  KITTY  TREVYLYA2^.  155 

derstand  it.  What  is  evil-speaking  ?  It  is  not  the 
same  as  lying  or  slandering.  All  a  man  says  may  be 
as  true  as  the  Bible,  and  yet  the  saying  of  it  be  evil- 
speaking.  For  evil-speaking  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  speaking  evil  of  an  absent  person  ;  relating 
something  evil  which  was  really  done  or  said  by  one 
that  is  not  present  when  it  is  related.  In  our  lan- 
guage this  is  also,  by  an  extremely  proper  name, 
termed  "  back-biting."  Nor  is  there  any  material 
difference  between  this  and  what  we  usually  style 
"  tale-bearing."  If  the  tale  be  delivered  in  a  soft 
and  quiet  manner  (perhaps  with  some  expressions  of 
good-will  to  the  person,  and  a  hope  that  things 
may  not  be  quite  so  bad),  then  we  call  it  "  whisper- 
ing." But  in  whatever  manner  it  be  done,  the 
thing  is  the  same,  if  we  relate  to  another  the  fault 
of  a  third  person  when  he  is  not  there  to  answer  for 
himself. 

"  '  And  how  extremely  common  is  this  sin,  among 
all  orders  and  degrees  of  men.  How  do  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  wise  and  foolish,  learned  and  un- 
learned, run  into  it  continually  !  What  conversation 
do  you  hear  of  any  considerable  length  whereof  evil- 
speaking  is  not  one  ingredient  ? 

"  '  And  the  veiy  commonness  of  this  sin  makes  it 
difficult  to  be  avoided.  If  we  are  not  deeply  sensible 
of  the  danger,  and  continually  guarding  against  it, 
we  are  liable  to  be  carried  away  by  the  torrent.  In 
this  instance,  almost  the  whole  of  mankind  are,  as  it 
were,  in  a  conspiracy  against  us.  Besides,  it  is  re- 
commended from  within  as  well  as  from  without. 
There  is  scarcely  a  wrong  temper  in  the  mind  of  man 
that  may  not  occasionally  be  gratified  by  it — our 
pride,  anger,  resentment. 


156  THE  DIARY  OF 

''  *  Evil-speaking  is  the  more  difficult  to  be  avoided, 
b  cause  it  frequently  attacks  us  in  disguise.  We 
speak  tlius  out  of  a  noble,  generous  (it  is  well  if  Vv^e 
do  not  say)  holy  indignation,  against  those  vile  crea- 
tures. We  commit  sin  from  mere  hatred  of  sin ! 
We  serve  the  devil  out  of  pure  zeal  for  God !' 

"  Then  having  laid  bare  the  disease,  Mr.  Wesley 
gave  the  remedy. 

"  *  First,  "  if  thy  brothet  sin  against  thee,  go  and 
tell  him  of  his  fault  between  thee  and  him  alone." 
This,'  he  said, '  requires  the  greatest  gentleness,  meek- 
ness, and  love.  If  he  opposes  the  truth,  yet  he  can- 
not be  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  it  but  by  gen- 
tleness. Still  speak  in  a  spirit  of  tender  love,  which 
"  many  waters  cannot  quench."  If  l/yte  is  not  con- 
quered, it  conquers  all  things.  Who  can  tell  the  force 
of  love  ? 

"  '  This  step  our  Lord  commands  us  to  take  Jirst,^ 
Mr.  Wesley  went  on  to  say.  *  No  alternative  is  al- 
lowed,' 

"  *  Do  not  think  to  excuse  yourself  for  taking  an 
entirely  different  step  by  saying,  "  I  did  not  speak  to 
any  one  until  I  was  so  burdened  I  could  not  refrain." 
And  what  a  way  have  you  found  to  unburden  your- 
self 1  God  reproves  you  for  a  sin  of  omission,  for 
not  telling  your  brother  of  his  fault ;  and  you  com- 
fort yourself  by  a  sin  of  commission,  by  telling  your 
brother's  fault  to  another  person.  Ease  bought  by 
sin  is  a  dear  purchase  1' 

"Afterwards  he  exhorted  us  to  'hear  evil  of  no 
man.  The  receiver  is  as  bad  as  the  thief.  If  there 
were  no  hearers,  there  would  be  no  speakers  of  evil.' 

"  The  close  of  the  sermon  was  something  in  these 
words  • 


MRS.  KITTY  trevylyan:  157 

"  *  O  that  all  of  you  who  bear  the  reproach  of 
Christ,  who  are  in  derision  called  Methodists,  would 
set  an  example  at  least  in  this  !  If  you  must  be  dis- 
tinguished, let  this  be  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a 
Methodist — "  He  censures  no  man  behind  his  back : 
by  this  fruit  you  may  know  him."  What  a  blessed 
effect  of  this  self-denial  we  should  quickly  feel. in 
our  hearts !  Mow  would  "  our  peace  flow  as  a  river," 
when  we  thus  followed  peace  with  all  men  !  How 
would  the  love  of  God  abound  in  our  souls  while  we 
thus  confirmed  our  love  to  the  brethren  !  And  what 
an  effect  would  it  have  on  all  that  were  united  to- 
gether LQ  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !  How 
would  brotherly  love  continually  increase.  If  one 
member  suffered,  all  would  suffer  with  it ;  if  one  was 
honored,  all  would  rejoice  with  it.  Nor  is  this  all. 
What  an  effect  this  might  have  even  on  the  mid,  un- 
thinking world.  Once  more,  with  Julian  the  Apos- 
tate, they  should  be  constrained  to  cry,  "  See  how 
these  Christians  love  one  another  !"  Our  Lord's  last 
solemn  prayer  would  be  fulfilled — ^his  kingdom  would 
come.  The  Lord  hasten  the  time,  and  enable  us  to 
love  one  another,  not  only  in  word  and  tongue,  but  in 
deed  and  in  truth !' " 

"  There  sweet  cousin,  thus  did  I  sit  rebuked  and 
instructed,  and  after  that  you  will  of  course  never 
expect  to  hear  what  Lady  Emily  said  the  other  even- 
ing. But  as  to  the  duty  of  taking  her  apart  and 
telling  her,  I  am  not  clear.  This  kind  of  assault  is 
not  pleasant,  except  to  very  pugnacious  natures,  so 
that  this  method  of  speaking  evil  to  instead  of  of 
people,  has  farther  the  great  advantage  of  making 
one  try  to  find  out  apologies  for  the  faults  one  would 
have  to  condemn  in  this  straightforward  manner. 
14 


158  THE  DIARY  OF 

And  very  often,  I  do  believe,  we  should  find  the  apo- 
logy truer  than  the  accusation. 

"  These  wonderful  Wesleys,  Kitty !  I  do  think 
they  are  like  the  apostles  more  than  any  people  that 
ever  lived ;  at  least  on  the  side  on  which  they  wero 
apostles.  I  cannot  yet  get  over  the  feeling  that  St. 
Paul  or  St.  John,  and  certainly  St.  Peter,  would  have 
been  easier  to  ask  advice  from  about  little  home-difl3- 
culties. 

"  I  have  been  hearing  about  them  from  your  friend, 
Mr.  Hugh  Spencer.  Papa  likes  him,  and  he  has 
been  to  see  us  several  times,  and  when  Papa  goes 
out,  we  have  had  long  conversations  concerning  the 
Methodists,  and  also  concerning  another  subject  (or 
object)  in  which  we  are  both  greatly  interested. 

^'  I  should  like  to  have  spent  a  week  at  that  Ep- 
worth  parsonage  where  the  Wesleys  were  cradled — 
that  home  which  was  free,  and  happy,  and  full  of 
healthful  play  as  any  home  in  the  holidays,  and  or- 
derly, and  full  of  healthful  work  as  any  school ; 
where  the  '  odious  noise'  of  the  crying  of  children 
was  not  suffered,  but  there  was  no  restraint  in  their 
gleeful  laughter;  to  have  listened  to  the  singing 
with  which  the  childish  voices  opened  and  closed 
their  lessons;  to  have  seen,  at  five  o'clock,  the  oldest 
take  apart  the  youngest  that  could  speak,  the  second 
the  next,  and  so  on,  and  read  together  the  Psalm  for 
the  day  and  a  chapter  from  the  New  Testament ;  to 
have  gone  through  the  quiet  bedrooms  three  hours 
afterwards,  and  seen  the  rosy,  sleeping  faces,  even  the 
baby  of  a  year  old  lying  quiet  although  awake,  or 
only  venturing  to  '  C17  softly ;'  or  more  than  all  to 
have  watched  invisibly  the  mother  conversing  alone, 


MRS.  KITTY  trevylyan:  159 

as  she  did,  with  one  of  her  little  ones  every  evening, 
listening  to  their  childish  confessions,  and  giving 
counsel  to  their  childish  perplexities. 

"  So  deep  was  the  hold  that  mother  had  on  the 
hearts  of  her  sons,  that  years  afterw^ards,  in  his  early 
manhood,  she  had  tenderly  to  rebuke  John  for  that 
*  fond  wish '  of  his  of  dying  before  she  died. 

"  There  were  nineteen  children  born  in  that  home ; 
thirteen  of  them  were  living  at  one  time.  The  pres- 
sure of  all  the  endless  small  cares  of  poverty  was 
added  to  the  labor  of  teaching  and  training  those 
healthy,  eager,  clever  children,  all  of  them,  no  doubt, 
endued  with  a  considerable  portion  of  the  will  and 
character  of  their  parents.  And  their  circumstances 
were  not  improved  by  the  father's  uncompromising 
politics ;  many  of  the  parishioners  paid  the  tithes  in 
the  most  inconvenient  way  they  could,  and  the  au- 
thorities, on  the  plea  of  a  small  debt,  once  threw"  Mr. 
Wesley  into  prison.  Whilst  there,  his  noble  wife 
sold  her  dngs  to  support  him ;  other  female  super- 
fluities no  doubt  had  disaj^peared  before,  and  his 
books  were  no  superfluities  in  his  eyes  or  hers  ;  and 
in  prison  he  read  the  prayers,  and  preached  to  the 
WTetched  inmates,  and  found  the  jail  (so  he  wrote  to 
the  Archbishop  of  York)  a  larger  a.ud  more  import- 
ant parish  than  his  owtq. 

"Yet  burdened  as  she  was,  no  one  can  picture 
Mrs.  Wesley,  as  creeping  with  stooping  shoulders 
through  life,  a  weary  heavy-laden  woman.  All  her 
work  was  done  with  a  hearty  cheerfulness.  At  fifty, 
she  said,  in  a  letter  to  the  Archbishop  of  York  (tiied 
as  she  had  been  with  poverty)  that  she  believed  it 
was  easier  to  be  content  without  riches  than  with 
them. 


160  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  There  was  a  secret  spring  wMcli  fed  her  inmost 
heart.  Every  morning  and  every  evening  she  spent 
an  hour  alone  with  God.  That  morning  hour  of 
prayer  (your  friend  Hugh  Spencer  said),  made  the 
day's  yoke  easy  and  its  burdens  light ;  that  evening 
hour  kept  her  heart  and  conscience  at  rest. 

"  And  so  fresh  did  those  week-day  Sabbath-hours 
keep  her  strength,  that  on  Sundays,  during  her 
husband's  absence,  she  found  it  no  toil  to  gather  his 
poor  parishioners  in  her  kitchen  and  read  a  sermon, 
pray,  and  converse  in  a  simple  and  solemn  way  with 
them.  Two  hundred  were  sometimes  assembled  in 
this  way.  An  unfavorable  report  of  this  •  conventicle ' 
was  sent  to  her  husband,  and  on  his  remonstrating 
she  wrote  that  she  was  preparing  hearers  for  his 
church-services.  But  if  he  continued  to  object,  she 
simply  requested,  *  Do  not  advise^  but  command  me 
to  desist.'  His  command  was  God's  authority  for 
her,  and  she  would  submit  unhesitatingly.  His  ad- 
vice was  man's  advice,  and  she  could  not  alter  her 
convictions  at  his  will  or  her  own. 

"  The  old  home  at  Epworth  Rectory  is  in  other 
hands  now;  the  last  time  Mr.  John  Wesley  went 
there,  being  refused  his  father's  pulpit,  he  preached 
to  the  jDeople  from  his  father's  grave-stone. 

"  Both  father  and  mother  are  gone  now.  The 
family  have  the  recollection  of  two  saintly  death- 
beds to  crown  the  memory  of  those  two  noble  lives. 
When  dying,  old  Mr.  Wesley  laid  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  his  son  Charles,  and  said,  *  Be  steady ;  the 
Christian  faith  will  surely  revive  in  this  kingdom ; 
you  will  see  it,  though  I  shall  not.' 

**  The  inward  witness  I'  he  said,  at  another  time, 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  161 

*  the  inward  witness  I  tliat  is  the  proof,  the  strongest 
proof  of  Christianity.' 

"  His  last  words  were,  '  God  chastens  me  with 
strong  pain,  but  I  praise  Him  for  it,  I  thank  Him  for 
it,  I  love  Him  for  it.'  His  last  act  Avas  receiving  the 
Holy  Communion  with  his  family. 

"  The  mother  died  only  a  few  years  since  in  her 
seventy-third  year;  calm,  serene,  painless,  looking 
up  to  heaven,  she  passed  away  (as  she  had  wished) 
whilst  her  children  were  singing  around  her  bed  a 
'  Psalm  of  praise  to  God.'  As  the  praises  of  earth 
fell  dim  and  distant  on  the  ear  of  the  dying,  other 
songs  of  everlasting  joy  were  beginning  to  burst 
upon  her. 

"  I  hear  Mr.  John  Wesley  x)reach,  and  read  these 
deep  heart-stirring  hymns  of  his  brother  Charles 
with  far  greater  interest  now  that  I  know  what  thei]' 
father's  house  was  like  ;  what  a  pure,  sweet  stream 
of  home  memories  flows  round  their  lofty  devotion 
to  God.  And  this  devotion  seems  quite  unreserved. 
When  Mr.  John  Wesley's  income  was  thirty  pounds 
a  year,  he  spent  twenty-eight  and  gave  away  two. 
Now  that  it  is  one  hundred  and  twenty,  he  still 
spends  twenty-eight,  and  gives  away  ninety-two. 
The  return  he  made  of  his  plate  lately  to  the  tax 
collectors  was,  'Two  silver  sj)oons,  one  in  London 
and  one  at  Bristol.' 

"  What  wonders  one  man  may  do,  without  vanity 
and  covetousness ;  and  with  a  suflicient  motive ! 
Yet  his  dress  is  at  any  time,  they  say,  neat  enough 
for  any  society,  except  when  some  of  the  mobs,  who 
have  frequently  attacked  him,  but  never  injured  him, 
may  have  considerably  ruffled  his  attire.  His  temper 
they  could  never  ruffle ;   and  in  the  end,  his  unaf- 


IbS  TUE  DIARY  OF 

fccted  benevolence,  his  Christian  serenity  and  gentic*- 
nianly  composure  are  sure  to  overcome.  The  ring- 
leaders more  than  once  have  turned  round  on  their 
followers  and  dared  them  to  touch  the  parson.  Hife 
ralm,  commanding  voice  has  been  heard.  Silence 
has  succeeded  to  hootings,  and  sobs  to  silence,  and 
Hugh  SiDencer  says,  there  is  scarcely  a  place  where 
the  Methodists  have  been  assailed  by  mobs,  where, 
from  the  very  dregs  of  these  very  mobs,  men  and 
women  have  not  been  rescued,  and  found,  not  long 
after,  *  sitting  clothed  and  in  their  right  mind,'  at  the 
feet  of  the  Saviour. 

"  Mr.  Whitefield  is  very  different.  Any  one  can 
understand  why  the  Wesleys  should  do  great  things, 
especially  Mr.  John.  He  is  a  man  of  such  will  and 
power,  such  strong  practical  sense  and  determination, 
so  nobly  trained  in  such  a  home.  But  Mr.  Whitefield's 
strength  seems  to  be  obviously  not  in  him  but  in  the 
truth  he  speaks.  His  early  home,  an  inn  at  Bristol, 
his  early  life  spent  in  low  occupations  among  low 
companions,  his  one  great  gift,  suited  one  would 
have  thought  more  to  a  theatre  than  a  pulpit.  But 
his  whole  heart  is  on  fire  with  the  love  of  Christ  and 
the  love  of  perishing  immortal  men  and  women. 
And  he  has  the  great  gift  of  making  people  listen  to 
the  message  of  God's  infinite  grace.  The  message 
does  the  rest.  And  what  it  does,  Kitty,  I  can  hardly 
write  of  without  tears. 

"  He  tells  peoi^le  all  over  the  world — morning, 
noon,  and  night,  every  day  of  his  life — duchesses, 
wise  men,  colliers,  and  outcasts  (as  he  told  me),  that 
we  have  a  great  burden  on  our  hearts;  and  we 
know  it.  He  tells  us  that  burden  is  sin  ;  and 
"whether  we  knew  it  or  not  before,  we  know,  when 


MRS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  163 

lie  says  so,  it  is  true.  He  weeps  and  tells  us  that 
unless  that  great  burden  is  lifted  off  nmo.^  it  will 
never  be  lifted  off,  but  will  crush  us  down  and  down 
for  ever ;  and  half  his  audience  weep  with  him.  He 
tells  us  it  can  be  lifted  off  now.^  Jiere^  this  instant ;  we 
may  go  away  from  that  spot,  unburdened,  forgiven, 
rejoicing,  reconciled  to  God,  without  a  thing  in  time 
or  eternity  to  dread  any  more  ;  the  burden  of  terror 
exchanged  for  an  infinite  wealth  of  joy,  the  debt  of 
guilt  into  a  debt  of  everlasting  gratitude.  And 
then,  just  as  the  poor  stricken  hearts  before  him, 
each  hanging  on  his  eloquent  words  as  if  he  were 
peading  with  each  alone,  begin  to  thrill  with  a  new 
hope ;  he  shown  us  liow  all  this  can  be.  He  shows 
us  (or  God  reveals  to  us),  Christ,  the  Lamb  of  God, 
the  Son  of  God  fainting  under  the  burden  of  our  sin, 
yet  bearing  it  all  away.  And  we  forget  Mr.  White- 
field,  the  congregation,  time,  earth,  ourselves,  every- 
thing but  the  Cross,  to  which  he  has  led  us,  but  that 
suffering,  smitten,  dying  Saviour  at  whose  feet  we 
stand.  And  from  that  moment  we  seem  no  longer 
to  be  listening,  but  only  looking.  We  are  looking 
on  God.  And  that  look  is  not  death  but  life,  life 
everlasting,  for  God  is  in  Christ  reconciling  us  to 
himself.  We  are  looking  on  God  and  loving  Him  ; 
God  is  looking  on  us  and  loving  us.  And  then,  as 
we  gaze,  slowly  the  truth  dawns  on  us  ;  that  God  is 
not  now  leginning  to  look  on  us  with  that  look  of 
infinite  compassion  and  tenderness,  He  has  been 
caring  for  us  all  our  lives ;  He  has  loved  us  with  an 
everlasting  love.  He  has  been  drawing  us  blind, 
wilful,  unwilling,  to  Himself.  It  is  our  first  look, 
but  oh,  it  is  not  His !  Then  the  barriers  of  time 
and  death  seem  gone,  for  sin  was  their  substance, 


164  THE  DIARY  OF 

and  that  is  taken  away;  and  we  are  in  eternity, 
eternal  life  has  begun,  for  Christ  is  our  life,  and  we 
are  forever  with  Ilim. 

"  Kitty,  I  believe  Mr.  Whitefield  has  brought  this 
unutterable  joy  to  thousands  and  thousands,  and  that 
he  lives  for  nothing  else  but  to  bring  it  to  thousands 
more.  And  this  whole  generation  must  pass  away 
before  his  sermons  can  be  coolly  criticised,  or  his 
name  uttered  in  any  large  assembly  of  Christian 
people  without  bringing  tears  to  many  eyes. 

"  Dear  Kitty,  I  have  heard  Mr.  Wesley  again,  and 
his  sermon  was  on  our  being  stewards  of  God  I 
cannot  tell  you  what  that  sermon  did  for  me.  That 
first  sermon  of  Mr.  Whitefield's  seemed  to  lay  me 
prostrate,  beggared,  utterly  destitute,  at  the  feet  of 
my  Saviour,  thenceforth  to  be  nothing  and  have 
nothing  in  myself,  yet  to  possess  all  things  in  Him. 

"  Mr.  Wesley's  noble  words,  on  the  other  hand, 
seemed  to  be  like  God's  gracious  hands  once  more 
investing  me  with  all  my  forfeited  possessions,  no 
more  as  earthly  dross,  but  as  priceless,  heavenly 
treasures.  Anything  God  has  given  me — health, 
youth,  any  power  of  pleasing  or  influencing  others, 
every  faculty  of  the  body,  *  that  exquisitely  wrought 
machine,'  as  he  termed  it ;  every  power  of  the  mind  ; 
our  money,  which  he  calls  our  poorest  and  meanest 
possession ;  every  relationship  of  life,  every  moment 
of  time,  seemed  given  back  to  me,  new  coined, 
stamped  with  the  seal  of  God,  and  made  current 
through  eteniity.  If  before,  in  the  first  glimpse 
of  eternity,  all  the  things  I  had  most  prized  seemed 
dust  and  dross,  now,  themselves  linked  to  eternity, 
they  seem  to  me  sacred  and  priceless.     *How  pre 


31ES.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAm  165 

cious,  above  all  utterance,  above  all  coi  ceptiou,'  as 
he  said,  '  is  every  portion  of  our  life.  Not,  indeed, 
that  there  are  any  works  of  supererogation ;  that 
we  can  ever  do  more  than  our  duty  seeing  all  we 
have  is  not  our  own  but  God's ;  all  we  can  do  is  due 
to  Him.  We  have  not  received  this  or  that  thing 
but  everything  from  Him;  therefore  everything  is 
His  due.' 

"  After  that  sermon  I  went  back  to  the  good  peo- 
ple who  gather  around  Lady  Huntingdon,  of  whom 
I  wrote  to  you  in  the  beginning  of  this  letter,  or  rather 
this  book  of  chronicles ;  and  in  the  light  of  that  truth 
all  seemed  to  me  transformed.  We  are  fellow-ser- 
vants— ^fellow-workers ;  and  I  came  to  them  humbly 
to  ask  them  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  doing  some 
humble  work,  such  as  a  beginner  might  attempt. 
Then,  Kitty,  I  found  that  many  of  these  good  women, 
whose  manners  I  had  been  criticizing  at  my  leisure, 
had  meantime  been  engaged  in  countless  labors  of 
love ;  and  as  I  went  with  them  to  the  schools,  the 
hospitals,  and  the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  the  voices 
which  brought  gladness  among  little  destitute  child- 
ren, and  a  rare  sunshine  into  the  dwellings  of  the 
London  poor, — ^which  were  longed  for  on  lonely  sick- 
beds, and  welcomed  with  grateful  smiles  by  wan  faces 
drawn  with  pain, — ^have  passed  for  me  into  a  region 
far  beyond  the  icy  touch  of  criticism ;  they  are  dear 
to  me,  Kitty.  We  are  bound  together  as  fellow-ser- 
vants as  well  as  brethren.  It  seems  to  me  nothing 
unites  us  like  a  common  object  to  work  for ;  partly, 
I  suppose,  because  working  shows  us  our  own  deli- 
ciencies,  and  humility  and  forbearance  spring  up  from 
one  root.  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  rule  if  every 
Clitic  were  compelled  by  law  to  write  a  book  himself. 


lOd  THE  DIARY  OF 

He  would  see  then  what  the  difficulties  of  those  he 
criticizes  are;  and  the  world  would  see  what  his 
powers  are,  which,  in  many  cases,  would,  I  have  no 
doubt,  tend  to  produce  in  a  critic  a  wholesome 
humility. 

"I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  Kitty,  that  we 
obtain  a  grander  and  truer  view  of  lofty  things  from 
below  than  from  above ;  looking  up  to  them  from  our 
own  level  instead  of  looking  dowTi  on  them,  fore- 
shortened by  their  own  elevation,  from  the  height  to 
which  but  for  them  we  never  could  have  climbed. 

*'  And  now,  Cousin  Kitty,  I  must  seal  up  my  bud- 
get, and  send  it  this  veiy  day,  or  it  will  grow  so  long, 
you  will  forget  the  beginning  before  you  reach  the 
end.  I  had  thought  of  sending  it  by  the  hand  of 
your  friend,  Mr.  Hugh  Spencer,  when  he  passes 
through  London  from  the  University,  but  it  is  of  ko 
use  to  wait  for  him ;  and  as  there  is  nothing  Jacobite 
or  fanatically  Whig  in  my  lucubrations,  I  must  trust 
tliem  to  the  ordinary  chances  of  the  mail,  and  not 
wait  till  next  week,  when  we  leave  London  again, 
and  they  would  have  to  be  committed  to  the  extra- 
ordinary perils  of  the  cross  posts  from  Beauchamp 
Manor.  I  suppose  the  mails,  like  Miss  Pawsey's 
fashions,  do  reach  you  at  least  '  once  in  every  two  or 
three  years.' 

"  Before  finishing,  however,  I  must  tell  you  of  a 
conversation  which  took  place  to-day. 

*'  This  morning  two  gentlemen  who  were  calling  on 
papa  were  lamenting  the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

*'  One  was  an  old  general,  and  he  said, — 

"  *  We  have  no  heroes  now — not  a  great  soldier  left 
Since  Marlboi'ough  died  not  an  Englishman  has  ap« 
peared  who  is  fit  to  be  more  than  a  general  of  division. 


MnS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAI^,  167 

There  is  neither  the  brain  to  conceive  great  i3lans, 
nor  the  will  to  execute  them,  nor  the  dash  which  so 
often  changes  reverses  into  victories.' 

*'  My  great-uncle,  a  Fellow  of  Brazennose,  took  up 
the  wail.  '  No,  indeed,'  he  said ;  '  the  ages  of  gold 
and  iron  and  brass  are  over ;  the  golden  days  of  Eliza- 
beth and  Shakespeare,  and  the  scattered  Armada,  the 
inm  of  the  Revolution  (for  rough  as  they  were,  these 
men  were  iron) ;  the  brass  of  the  Restoration ;  and 
now  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  beat  out  the  dust 
and  shavings  into  tinsel  and  wire.' 

"  *  We  have  plenty  of  wood  at  least  for  gallows,' 
interposed  my  brother  Harry.  '  Cart-loads  of  men 
are  taken  every  week  to  Tyburn.  I  saw  one  myself 
yesterday.' 

"  *  For  what  crimes  ?'  asked  the  general. 

"  *  One  for  stealing  a  few  yards  of  ribbon ;  another 
for  forging  a  draught  for  £50,'  said  Harry. 

"  *  Ah,'  sighed  the  general, '  we  have  not  even  energy 
left  to  commit  great  crimes  !' 

"  '  Then,'  resumed  my  great  uncle,  '  what  authors 
or  aiiists  have  we  worth  the  name  ?  Pope,  Swift,  and 
Addison,  Wren  and  Kneller, — all  are  gone.  We  have 
not  amongst  us  a  man  who  can  make  an  epic  march, 
or  a  satire  bite,  or  a  cathedral  stand,  or  picture  or  a 
statue  live.  Imitators  of  imitations,  we  live  at  the 
fag-end  of  time,  without  great  thinkers,  or  great 
thoughts,  or  great  deeds  to  inspire  either.' 

"  *  There  is  a  little  bookseller  called  Richardson, 
who,  the  ladies  say,  writes  like  an  angel,'  observed 
my  Brother  Harry ;  '  and  Fielding  at  all  events  is  a 
gentleman,  and  knows  something  of  men  and  man- 
ners.' 

"  *  And  pretty  men  and  manners  they  are  from  vfhajk 


168  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  hear,'  was  my  great-uncle's  dolorous  response.  *  But 
what  are  these  at  best  ?  Not  worth  the  name  of  lit- 
erature; frippery  for  a  lady's  drawing-room, — no 
more  to  be  called  literature  than  these  mandarins  or 
monsters  are  to  be  called  sculpture.' 

"  '  Mr.  Handel's  music  has  some  life  in  it,'  replied 
Harry,  roused  to  opposition  (although  Harry  does 
not  know  *  God  save  the  Queen '  from  '  Rule  Britan- 
nia!'). 

"  *  Yes,  that  is  all  we  are  fit  for,'  was  the  cynical 
reply, — 'to  put  the  great  songs  of  cur  fathers  to 
jingling  tunes.  We  sit  stitching  tinsel  fringes  for 
the  grand  draperies  of  the  past,  and  do  not  see  that 
all  the  time  we  are  no  better  than  tailors  working  at 
our  own  palls.' 

"  *  Besides,'  resumed  the  old  general,  '  Handel  is  no 
Englishman.  The  old  British  stock  is  dying  out,  sir. 
We  have  not  even  wit  to  put  our  forefathers'  songs  to 
music,  nor  sense  to  sing  them  when  that  is  done.  We 
Lave  nothing  left  but  money  to  pay  Germans  to  fight 
for  us,  and  Italians  to  scream  for  us.' 

"  *  And  that  is  going  as  fast  as  it  can,'  interposed 
papa.  *  What  public  man  have  we.  Whig  or  Tory, 
who  would  not  sell  his  country  for  a  pension,  or  his 
soul  for  a  place  ?' 

" '  Soul,  nephew  I'  said  my  great-uncle.  '  You  are 
using  words  gro^vn  quite  obsolete.  Wlio  believes  in 
such  a  thing  as  the  salvation  or  perdition  of  the  soul 
in  these  enlightened  times  V 

" '  The  Methodists  do,  at  any  rate,  sir,'  replied 
Harry,  maliciously ;  *  and  Lady  Huntingdon,  and  my 
Sister  Evelyn,  and  my  Cousin  Kitty.' 

"  Harry  had  drawn  all  the  forces  of  the  enemy  on 
bim  at  once  by  this  assault. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  169 

"  *  Sir,'  said  papa,  ^  I  beg  henceforth  you  never 
couple  your  sister's  or  your  cousin's  name  with  those 
low  fanatics.  If  Evelyn  occasionally  likes  longer  ser- 
mons than  I  can  stand,  she  is  a  dutiful  child,  and 
costs  me  not  a  moment's  anxiety,  which  is  more  than 
can  be  said  for  every  one ;  and  if  she  visits  the  old 
women  at  the  Manor,  so  did  her  grandmother,  who 
lived  before  a  Methodist  had  been  heard  of.' 

"  '  Methodists !'  exclaimed  the  general,  indignantly ; 
*  it  was  only  the  other  day  I  was  told  of  one  of  them, 
John  Nelson,  who  was  enlisted  by  force,  and  who 
would  have  made  as  fine  a  soldier  as  the  king  has 
but  for  his  confounded  Methodism.  They  actually 
had  to  let  him  off,  lest  he  should  bite  the  other  fel- 
lows, and  make  them  all  as  mad  as  himself.  Why, 
sir,  he  actually  reproved  the  officers  for  swearing,  and 
in  such  a  respectful  way,  the  cunning  fellow,  they 
could  do  nothing  to  him ;  and  when  an  ensign  had 
him  put  in  prison,  and  threatened  to  have  him 
whipped,  he  seemed  as  happy  there  as  St.  Paul  him- 
self. The  people  came  to  him  night  and  day,  to  hear 
him  speak  and  preach.  The  infection  of  his  fanatical 
religion  spread  in  every  town  through  w^hiqli  they 
took  him.  They  could  find  nothing  by  which  they 
might  keep  hold  of  him ;  for  he  was  no  Dissenter ; 
he  professed  to  delight  to  go  to  church  more  than 
anything,  and  to  receive  the  sacrament.  And  the 
end  of  it  was,  the  major  had  to  set  him  free ;  and  ac- 
tually was  foolish  enough  to  say,  if  he  preached  again 
without  making  a  mob,  if  he  was  able,  he  would  go 
and  hear  him  himself;  and  he  wished  all  the  men 
were  like  him.  A  most  dangerous  rascal, — a  fellor 
"with  the  strength  af  a  lion  and  the  courage  of  a 
Veteran ;  and  y^t  /^e  would  rather  preach  than  fight 
15 


170  THE  DIAllY  OF 

I  woulJ  make  short  work  with  such  fellows,  if  I  had 
Tyburn  for  a  few  days  in  my  own  hands,  with  a  troop 
of  Marlborough's  old  soldiers.' 

"  '  It  would  be  of  no  use,  sir,'  replied  Harry ;  *  they 
would  beat  you  even  at  Tyburn.  I  saw  a  man  hung 
there  yesterday  as  peacefully  as  if  he  had  been  ascend- 
ing the  block  for  his  country  or  his  king.  He  said 
Mr.  John  Wesley  had  visited  him  in  the  prison,  and 
taught  him  how  to  repent  of  his  sins  and  seek  his 
God,  and  made  him  content  to  die.  The  peojjle 
were  quite  moved,  sir.' 

"  '-  No  doubt !  the  people  are  always  ready  enough 
to  be  moved,'  said  the  general,  'especially  by  any 
rogue  who  is  on  the  point  of  being  hanged.  These 
things  should  be  met  silently,  sharply,  decisively.' 

"  '  Tlie  Pope  has  tried  that  before  now,  sir,'  I  ven- 
tured to  suggest,  *  and  not  found  it  altogether  answer, 
— at  least  not  in  England.' 

"  '  True,  Evelyn,'  said  my  great-uncle,  meditatively. 
*  These  outbursts  of  fanaticism  are  like  epidemics ; 
they  will  have  their  time,  and  then  die  out.  In  the 
Middle  Ages,  whole  troops  of  men  and  women  used 
to  march  through  the  country,  wailing  and  scourging 
themselves,  and  in  the  wildest  state  of  excitement ; 
but  it  was  let  alone,  and  it  passed  off;  and  so  it  will 
be  with  Methodism,  no  doubt.' 

"  *  But,  uncle,'  I  said,  '  those  Methodists  do  not 
scourge  themselves,  nor  any  one  else.  They  only 
preach  to  the  people  about  sin,  and  the  judgment- 
day,  and  our  Saviour.' 

"  '  And  the  people  sob,  and  scream,  and  faint,  and 
fall  into  convulsions,  said  Harry,'  turning  on  me. 

" '  Of  course,'  said  my  great-uncle,  '  we  are  not 
Papists.    Fanaticism  will  take  another  form  in  Pro- 


3ritS.  KITTY  TREVYLTAK  171 

testant  countries ;  and  as  to  ignorant  men  preaching 
about  sin  and  the  judgment-day,  what  have  they  to 
do  with  it  ?  I  preached  them  a  sermon  on  that  sub- 
ject myself  last  Lent,  in  St.  Mary's,  and  no  one  sobbed, 
or  fainted,  or  was  at  all  excited.' 

"  '  But,  uncle,'  I  said,  '  the  people  who  are  to  be 
hanged  at  Tyburn,  and  the  Yorkshire  colliers,  cannot 
come  to  hear  you  at  St.  Mary's.' 

"  'However  little  it  might  excite  them !'  interposed 
Harry. 

"  '  Is  it  not  a  good  thing,  uncle,'  I  continued,  '  that 
some  one,  however  imperfectly,  should  preach  to  the 
people  who  can't  come  to  hear  you  at  St.  Mary's,  or 
who  won't  V 

"  '  Preach  in  the  fields  to  those  who  won't  come  to 
church  to  be  taught !'  said  my  great-uncle ;  '  the 
next  thing  will  be  to  take  food  to  the  people  at 
home  who  won't  come  to  the  fields  to  work,  and  beg 
them  to  be  so  kind  as  to  eat !' 

"  '  But,  dear  uncle,'  I  said,  '  the  worst  of  it  is,  the 
people  who  are  dying  for  want  of  this  kind  of  food 
don't  know  it  is  hunger  they  are  fainting  from.  You 
must  take  them  the  food  before  they  know  it  is  that 
they  want.' 

*'  *  Nonsense,  Evelyn,'  he  said ;  '  if  they  don't  knov/, 
they  ought.  I  have  no  notion  of  pampering  and 
coaxing  criminals  and  beggars  in  that  way.  Every- 
thing in  its  place.  The  pulpit  for  sermons,  and  Ty 
bum  for  those  who  won't  listen.  But  how  should 
young  women  understand  these  things  ?  There  is 
poor  John  Wesley,  as  orderly  and  practical  a  man  as 
ever  v/as  seen  before  he  was  seized  with  this  insanity 
or  imbecility.  The  times  are  very  evil ;  the  world  is 
turned  upside  do^Ti ;  and  tliis  fanatical  outburst  of 


173  THE  DIARY  OF 

Methodism  is  one  of  the  worst  symptoms  of  the 
times.  It  is  the  growth  on  the  stagnant  pond, — ^the 
deadly  growth  of  corrupt  and  decaying  age.' 

*'  But,  oh !  Cousin  Kitty,  when  the  world  was 
turned  upside  down  seventeen  hundred  years  ago,  in 
that  corrupt  and  decaying  age  of  ancient  times, 
people  found  at  last  it  was  only  as  a  plow  turns  up 
the  ground  for  a  new  harvest. 

*'And  sometimes  when  I  hear  what  Mr.  Hugh 
Spencer  tells  me  of  the  multitudes  thronging  to 
listen  to  Mr.  Whitefield  and  Mr.  Wesley,  and  the 
other  preachers  in  America  and  Wales,  and  among 
the  Cornish  miners,  and  the  colliers  of  the  north,  and 
the  slaves  in  the  West  Indies,  and  of  hearts  being 
awakened  to  repentance  and  faith  and  joy  even  in 
condemned  cells  it  seems  to  me  as  if  instead  of  death 
a  new  tide  of  life  was  rising  and  rising  through  the 
world  everywhere,  bursting  out  at  every  cranny  and 
crevice ;  as  in  spring  the  power  of  the  green  earth 
bursts  up  even  through  the  crevices  of  the  London 
paving-stones,  through  the  black  branches  of  the 
trees  in  deserted  old  squares,  through  the  flower  in 
the  broken  pot  in  the  sick  child's  window,  making 
every  wretched  comer  of  the  city  glad  with  some 
poor  tree  or  blossom,  or  plot  of  grass  of  its  own. 
But  the  dead  tree,  alas  I  crackles  in  the  wind, — the 
life-bringing  spring  wind, — and  wonders  what  all 
this  stir  and  twittering  is  about,  and  moans  drily 
tha.t  it  is  the  longest  winter  the  world  ever  saw,  and 
that  it  will  never  be  spring  again. 

"  As  I  did  once,  and  for  so  long  ! — 

"  But  we  have  come,  have  we  not,  to  the  Fountain 
of  Life,  and  this  tide  of  life  is  not  around  us  only,  i1 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAIi\  173 

is  within  us,  and  sometimes  the  joy  is  so  great  it 
seems  quite  too  great  to  bear  alone  ! 

"  And  then  especially  I  long  for  you,  Kitty,  and 
my  thoughts  buzz  about  you  like  bees  around  flow- 
ers in  the  sunshine.  If  you  feel  a  pleasant  little  stir 
about  your  heart  at  any  time,  that  is  j^hat  it  is  ! 

"  And  where  will  you  read  this  ?  In  your  sunny 
chamber  alone,  with  the  rooks  cawing  in  your  old 
elms,  and  the  light  flickering  through  their  branches 
on  your  floor  ?  Or  in  Aunt  Trevylyan's  closet,  sitting 
at  her  feet,  while  '  Bishop  Taylor'  lies  open  on  the 
little  table  beside  her  ?  Or  by  the  hall  fire,  while 
Uncle  Trevylyan  is  reading  for  the  hundreth  time 
that  book  on  fortifications,  soothed  to  occasioual 
dozes  by  the  drone  of  your  mother's  spinning-wheel, 
and  Jack  is  mending  his  fishing-tackle,  and  Trusty 
now  and  then  heaves  a  long  sigh  in  his  sleep,  and 
stretches  himself  into  a  posture  of  more  absolute  re- 
pose? 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it  all  one  day,  Kitty,  and  I 
must^  if  only  to  tell  Aunt  Trevylyan  all  you  have 
been  to  your  loving  cousin 

'*Eteltn  Beatjchamp. 

"P.  8, — Mamma  and  I  are  so  much  together  now, 
Kitty,  I  read  to  her  hours  together,  sometimes  French 
romances  and  sometimes  the  'Ladies'  Magazine  of 
Fashion.'  They  are  a  little  dull,  but  they  have  one 
great  merit,  they  imprison  my  thoughts  as  little  as 
embroidery.  But  every  morning,  before  she  gets  up, 
I  read  the  Bible  to  her ;  and  the  other  day,  when  I 
was  a  little  later  than  usual,  she  pointed  to  her 
watch,  and  said  in  a  disappointed  tone, — 
15* 


174  TEE  DIARY  OF 

"  *  You  are  late  Evelyn,  we  shall  scarcely  have  any 
time ;'  and  this  veiy  morning  she  said, — 

"  *  I  shall  be  glad  when  Lent  comes.  I  am  tired 
of  seeing  so  many  people,  and  you  and  I,  child,  shall 
have  more  time  for  each  other  then.' 

"And  then  she  looked  just  as  she  did  on  that 
night  in  the  old  nursery  at  Beauchamp  Manor,  when 
she  was  watching  by  Harry's  sick-bed  and  mine. 

"  Second  P.  8. — Cousin  Tom  is  as  savage  as  he  can 
be  to  me.  But  he  always  contrives  to  ask  for  you, 
although  he  snatches  at  any 'news  of  you  like  a 
chained  bear  at  a  biscuit,  and  then  shuffles  off 
growling." 

Cousin  Evelyn  and  Hugh  Spencer  seem  to  be  very 
intimate.  That  is  quite  natural.  They  must  like 
each  other.  They  are  so  suited.  Nothing  petty 
about  either  of  them.  Evelyn  is  just  the  kind  of 
woman  I  used  to  think  would  understand  him,  so 
frank  and  fearless,  and  truthful,  and  generous,  and 
full  of  thoughts  of  her  own ;  so  self-possessed  and 
ready-witted ;  so  different  from  me.  And  she  is  sure 
to  like  Hugh.  Every  one  must  who  knows  him. 
And  she  said  the  first  time  she  saw  him,  she  felt  he 
was  just  a  man  she  could  trust. 

But  they  do  seem  to  have  become  such  great  friends 
very  quickly  1 

Already  they  appear  to  have  secrets  she  does  not 
tell  me. 

I  wonder  what  the  "subject  (or  object)"  was  which 
Bho  does  not  mention,  in  which  they  are  both  so 
equally  interested. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  175 

When  I  read  Evelyn's  letter  to  Mother,  she  said,-- 
"  She  seems  much  delighted  with  the  Methodists, 
Kitty.  It  seems  to  me  a  little  dangerous  for  so  young 
a  woman  to  have  such  strong  opinions.  And  I  do 
not  quite  like  her  comparing  her  great-uncle  to  a 
dead  tree  in  a  London  square.  It  does  not  seem 
respectful  or  Idnd.  I  am  afraid  she  has  learned  that 
from  the  Methodists.  I  do  not  like  young  people  to 
judge  their  elders  in  that  way.  But,  poor  child,  she 
seems  to  have  had  her  own  way  too  much,  and  she  is 
affectionate,  and  so  fond  of  you,  Kitty.  I  am  glad 
you  love  each  other.  Kitty,  I  am  afraid  you.  must 
have  tried  her  patience  sorely  with  your  long  stories 
of  your  home.  She  seems  to  know  all  about  us. 
But  I  am  very  much  afraid  of  those  Methodists.  I 
cannot  think  what  we  want  of  a  new  religion.  St. 
Paul  says,  though  an  angel  from  heaven  were  to 
preach  another  gospel  to  us,  we  must  not  listen  to 
him.  What  has  Mr.  Wesley  to  say  that  the  Bible 
and  the  Prayer  Book  do  not  say, — and  Thomas  a 
Kempis  and  Bishop  Taylor  ?  Betty  went  to  hear  the 
Methodists,  and  since  then,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  has  twice  spoilt  the  Sunday's  dinner  in 
cooking  it.  Evelyn  perhaps  has  learned  some  good 
things  from  these  people,  but  my  Kitty  will  not  want 
any  other  religion  than  that  she  has  learned  from  her 
childhood, — in  her  Bible,  and  from  the  Church,  and 
in  this  little  closet  from  her  Mother's  lips.  Only 
more  of  it,  Kitty  ! — more  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity, 
more  than  I  have  ever  had,  or  perhaj)s  can  hope  to 
have,  more^  but  not  something  else.'''' 

I  could  only  assure  Mother  what  I  feel  so  deeply, 
that  I  could  never  wish  for  anything  but  to  grow 
year  by  year  more  like  what  she  is. 


176  MRS.   KITTY  TnEVYLYAy. 

Yet  wlicn  I  tLink  of  it  here  alone,  it  does  seem  to 
me  as  if  things  needed  to  be  said  over  again  in  a  new 
way  to  each  new  generation,  just  as  every  spring  has 
new  songs  and  new  blossoms.  And  even  more  than 
that,  because  birds  do  sing  the  same  songs,  and  yet 
they  are  always  fresh.  But  men's  works  and  words 
seem  to  grow  old-fashioned  unless  they  are  varied ; 
until,  as  Evelyn  says,  they  grow  again  into  a  kind  of 
fresh  youth  when  they  pass  from  being  antiquated  to 
being  antique. 

The  Bible  is  indeed  always  fresh,  always  new,  as 
the  songs  of  the  birds,  as  the  spiing  flowers,  as  the 
brealdng  of  the  waves,  as  the  hearts  of  children, 
as  the  young  man  in  a  shining  garment  at  the  sepul- 
chre, who  must  have  "  sung  for  joy "  thousands  of 
years  before,  at  the  birthday  of  the  world. 

But  it  does  seem  as  if  God  meant  His  Gospel  to  be 
borne  on  from  age  to  age  by  voices,  not  by  books,  not 
in  faint  echoes  from  the  tombs,  but  in  fresh,  living 
words  from  heart  to  heart. 

Certauily  Betty  understands  Mr.  Wesley  and  John 
Kelson,  as  she  never  could  understand  Thomas  u 
Kempis  and  Bishop  Taylor.  I  must  ask  Mother  next 
Sunday  about  this.  Mother  will  be  sure  to  knovf 
better  than  I  can. 


VI. 

/^^HE  song-birds,  for  tlie  most  part,  liave  outlived 
■3Bj  their  days  of  song,  and  are  quietly  chirping 
advice  to  their  nestlings  in  a  sober  and  practi- 
cal way.  Only  the  rooks,  who  seem  to  carry  on 
their  attachments  in  a  very  business-like  style,  as  if 
they  were  always  discussing  the  "  settlements "  and 
"pin-money"  Evelyn  used  to  laugh  about,  make  as 
much  noise  as  ever.  The  old  rooks  are  cawing  in- 
structions to  the  young  ones,  and  the  young  ones  seem 
to  discuss  these  instructions  in  rather  a  seditious  spirit 
among  themselves. 

]S"o  doubt  the  young  rooks  think  they  are  encoun- 
tering quite  newly-discovered  difficulties  with  the 
most  original  arguments,  although  precisely  the 
same  discussions  have  been  carried  on  every  season 
in  precisely  the  same  tones  for  centuries,  ever  siQce 
rooks  were. 

I  wonder  if  the  cavillings  and  controversies  of  our 
times,  which  seem  so  modem  and  new  to  us,  would 
sound  just  as  monotonous  to  any  one  who  had  lived 
through  seventeen  generations  of  men,  as  I  have  of 
rooks ! 

The  grave  autumn  winds  are  sweeping  in  slow  and 
solemn  cadences,  like  the  throb  of  a  dead-march, 
through  the  fading  leaves  of  the  elms ;  as  a  musician 


178  TUE  DIARY  OF 

might  draw  a  low,  lingering  farewell  from  his  harp, 
before  he  laid  it  aside  for  a  season  of  mourning. 
For  the  winds  often  seem  to  me  to  mourn  over  the 
wild  work  they  have  to  do,  sighing  and  so])bing 
through  the  woods  they  are  laying  bare,  and  passion- 
ately wailing  above  the  waves  they  are  lashing  into 
fury.  "  We  were  not  ma  U  for  this,"  they  seem  to 
moan.  "  Of  old  we  bore  not  death  but  life  on  our 
wings.  When  will  it  be  so  again  ?  Wlien  shall  we 
rest  ?  When  will  the  earth  rest  and  be  quiet  ?  When 
will  all  the  mournful  work  be  done,  and  only  the 
good  be  left  to  do  ? 

Hugh  Spencer  used  to  say,  how  thankful  we  should 
be  that  the  part  of  God's  work  given  us  to  do  on  earth 
i^  not  the  avenging  and  destroying,  but  the  healing 
and  the  helping. 

How  many  things  I  have  learned  from  him.  I  sup- 
pose he  vdll  never  be  here  much  again.  The  work  to 
e  done  in  the  world  seems  to  press  on  him  so  much, 
and  there  are  so  few  to  do  it ;  and  his  heart  is  so 
warm  and  large,  he  is  able  to  do  so  much  more  than 
most  other  people.     Cousin  Evelyn  feels  what  he  is  1 

And  yet  this  parish  is  like  a  world  in  itself,  he  used 
to  say ;  and  his  is  just  the  character  that  grows  dearer 
to  people  the  longer  they  know  him,  and  it  seems  al- 
most a  pity  to  throw  away  the  love  old  and  young 
have  for  him  in  his  father's  parish.  There  are  other 
people  who  could  preach  to  the  multitudes  through- 
out the  world.  But  it  docs  seem  as  if  no  one  could 
do  what  he  might  for  the  people  here. 

I  wonder  what  the  "  subject  (or  object)  "  is  Evelyn 
and  he  are  "  equally  interested  in,"  that  she  does  not 
tell  me  1 

Hugh  used  to  tell  me  all  his  wishes  and  purposes. 


MRS.    KITTY  TREVYLYA2L  179 

But  Evelyn  is  i\o  much  more  capable  of  entering  into 
them  than  I  ever  was,  and  of  helping  him  to  carry 
them  out,  with  her  rapid  ready  wit ;  so  different  from 
me,  who  so  often  think  of  the  right  thing  to  say  just 
when  it  is  too  late.  And  perhaps  I  disap]3ointed  him 
when  he  spoke  to  me  that  evening  on  the  sea,  of  his 
feeling  called  to  proclaim  the  gospel  through  the 
world,  when  that  selfish  sadness  came  over  me,  at  the 
chought  of  his  no  more  belonging  to  us  all  at  home, 
but  to  the  wide  world.  Perhaps  he  feels  I  cannot 
enter  into  his  great,  benevolent  plans.  And,  of  course, 
I  never  can,  as  Evelyn  could.  She  knows  so  much 
more,  and  thinks  so  much  more.  Beside  Evelyn's, 
my  thoughts  and  feelings  seem  so  faint  and  weak; 
like  a  little  flute  beside  a  clear,  ringing  clarion.  Yes, 
Evelyn  seems  just  made  to  understand  and  help  Hugh 
Spencer.  One  day,  perhaps,  they  will  tell  me  what 
this  great  "  subject  (or  object)  '■  is.  And  I  must  not 
be  selfish  again,  then,  but  must  try  to  enter  into  it 
with  all  my  heart;  for  it  is  sure  to  be  something 
generous  and  good. 

Jack  has  got  his  commission  at  last.  He  is  wild 
with  delight,  and  patronizes  us  all,  and  bestows 
imaginary  fortunes  on  every  one  in  the  parish,  on 
the  strength  of  the  cities  he  means  to  take,  and  the 
prize-money  he  means  to  win. 

Father  seems  to  live  over  his  youth  again,  as  he 
talks  to  Jack  of  the  perils  and  adventures  before  him 
and  although  he  warns  him  that  the  days  of  victory 
are  few  and  the  nights  of  watching  many,  and  the 
days  of  marching  long,  yet  the  old  martial  enthusi 
asm  that  comes  over  him  as  he  fights  Marlborough's 
battles  over  again,  certaiuly  has  more  power  to  en- 


*80  77/^5-  DIARY  OF 

kindle  Jack's  ardor,  than  the  sober  commentaries  at 
the  end  have  to  cool  it. 

It  is  pleasant,  however,  to  see  how  cordial  Father 
and  Jack  become  over  the  old  book  of  "  Fortifica- 
tions," and  in  their  endless  discussions  concerning 
arms  and  accoutrements. 

Meanwhile  Mother  and  I  rise  early  and  sit  uj)  late 
to  complete  Jack's  outfit.  And  many  tears  Mother 
lets  fall  on  the  long  seams  and  hems^although  I  am 
sure  it  is  easier  for  us  both,  than  if  we  were  rich,  and 
could  pay  some  one  else  to  do  the  w^ork,  while  we  sat 
brooding  over  the  parting.  It  is  a  comfort  to  put 
our  whole  hearts  into  every  stitch  we  do  for  him  ;  to 
feel  that  no  money  could  ever  purchase  the  delicate 
stitching  and  the  elaborate  button-holes,  and  the 
close,  strong  sewing  we  delight  to  make  as  perfect  as 
possible.  Mother  sews  her  tender  anxieties  into  every 
needleful,  and  certainly  relieves  her  anxieties  as  she 
does  so.  And  I  sew  all  sorts  of  mingled  feelings  in, 
besides ;  repentance  for  every  sharp  word  I  ever  spoke 
to  Jack,  and  every  hard  thought  I  ever  had  of  his  lit- 
tie  mistakes,  and  plans  of  my  own  for  his  comfort. 
For  the  bees,  and  the  three  Spanish  hens,  whose 
honey  and  eggs  constitute  my  "pin-money,"  have 
been  very  successful  lately ;  and  I  can  very  well, 
with  a  little  contrivance,  make  my  woolsey  dress  last 
one  more  winter ;  so  that  I  shall  have  quite  a  nice 
little  sum  for  Jack. 

Father  seems  to  feel  as  if  he  w^ere  going  forth  again 
to  the  wars  and  adventures  of  his  youth  in  Jack's 
person.  But  to  Mother  it  is  not  a  going  fortli^  but  a 
going  aicay.  She  shudders  as  Father  goes  over  his 
battles  on  the  table  after  supper,  with  the  bread  and 
cheese  for  fortresses,  and  the  plates  and  salt-cellars 


MUS.  KITTY  THEVYLYAK  181 

for  the  armies,  and  talks  of  "  massing  forces,"  and 
**  cutting  up  detachments  in  detail." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  one  day,  "  you  talk  so  coolly 
of  masses  and  forces,  and  of  '  cutting  them  up !' 
You  seem  to  forget  it  is  men  you  are  talking  of,  and 
that  our  Jack  is  to  be  one  of  them." 

Father  smiled  compassionately,  and  went  on  de- 
taching his  salt-cellars.  Jack  laughed  and  kissed 
Mother  affectionately,  and  said,  "  But  I  am  not  to  be 
one  of  them.  Mother.  I  have  no  intention  of  letting 
any  one  cut  me  up." 

But  Mother  could  not  hear  any  more  military  dis- 
cussions just  then ;  and  we  took  a  candle  to  a  little 
table  near  the  fire,  and  comforted  ourselyes  once 
more  with  Jack's  outfit. 

I  suppose  that  it  is  meant  that  men  must  leave  us 
one  day,  and  go  forth  into  the  world  to  do  their 
work. 

But  it  does  seem  a  little  hard  they  should  be  so 
glad  to  go. 

Yet  when  I  said  this  one  day  to  Mother,  she  said, 
"  I  would  not  have  Jack  one  bit  less  eager  and 
pleased,  on  any  account,  Kitty !  What  are  women 
for,  unless  they  can  help  men  in  the  rough  things 
they  have  to  do  and  bear  ?  They  work  and  fight 
hard  for  us,  and  if  we  have  our  own  share  of  the 
burden  to  bear  at  home,  the  least  we  can  do  is  to 
bear  it  cheerfully,  and  not  hinder  them  with  repining 
looks  and  words." 

''  Only,  Mother,"  I  said,  "  it  seems  wronging  the 
old  happy  days  to  part  with  them  so  easily." 

"  The  old  happy  childish  days  are  gone,  Kitty  I" 
she  said.     "  Men  cannot  set  down  on  the  march  of 
life,  gazing  with  lingering  looks  on  the  way  behind 
16 


182  TEE  DIARY  OF 

them.  And  women  should  not;  Christian  women 
ought  not,  Kitty,"  she  added  softly.  "You  know 
we  also  have  something  to  press  forward  to.  Our 
eyes  should  chiefly  there  be  fixed  whither  our  feet  are 
going." 

"  Dear  Mother,"  I  said,  "  if  one  were  only  sure  that 
this  step  forward  would  be  a  step  really  onward  for 
Jack  I  There  are  so  many  dangers  in  the  army,  are 
there  not  ?" 

"  What  makes  you  so  desponding,  Kitty  V^  she 
said.  "It  is  not  like  you ;  and  it  seems  as  if  you 
had  too  little  confidence  in  Jack.  We  must  not 
sit  and  wail  together  over  possible  evils.  When 
such  anxieties  com.e,  we  must  separate  and  pray. 
I  know  no  other  remedy,  my  child." 

And  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  her  my 
peculiar  anxieties  about  Jack.  Besides  it  would 
aave  seemed  ungenerous  to  him. 

Jack  is  gone.  Now  he  is  really  ofi^,  and  silence  has 
settled  down  on  the  house  after  all  the  bustle, 
Father's  apprehensions  seem  to  over-balance  his 
hopes.  He  roams  restlessly  in  and  out  of  the  house, 
and  then  sits  down  to  his  "  Fortifications,"  and  after 
reading  a  few  words,  shuts  the  book  and  pushes  il 
.\mpatiently  aside,  and  walks  carelessly  up  and  down, 
■)r  stands  whistling  at  the  window,  or  goes  to  the 
door  and  looks  at  the  weather,  and  wonders  how 
that  poor  boy  is  getting  on  at  sea. 

And  Trusty,  feeling  there  is  something  wrong,  goes 
to  the  door  also,  and  also  looks  out  at  the  weather, 
and  also  wonders,  and  wags  his  tail  in  an  indecisive, 
meditative  way,  and  returning  to  the  fire,  sits  bold 
upright  before  it  in  a   cramped  attitude,   starini? 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLTAN.  183 

vacantly  at  the  flames,  and  saying,  as  plainly  as  a  dog 
can,  tliat  lie  can  make  nothing  of  it. 

Mother,  on  the  other  hand,  makes  frequent  visits 
to  the  little  chamber  over  the  porch,  and  comes 
down  pale  and  serene,  and  with  some  little  cheery 
observation  changes  the  current  of  Father's  thoughts, 
or  reminds  him  of  some  work  about  the  farm. 

Then  Trusty  feels  that  it  is  all  right  again,  and 
stretches  himself  out  in  his  easiest  attitude  on  the 
hearth  at  her  feet,  and  sighs,  and  composes  himself 
to  sleep. 

I  wish  I  could  feel  as  if  it  was  all  right.  But 
there  are  things  about  Jack  which  do  make  me 
uneasy. 

The  day  before  he  left,  I  went  up  to  him  as  he  was 
packing  in  his  own  room,  and  slipped  the  little 
packet  containing  two  guineas  into  his  hand.  I  felt 
anxious  he  should  not  think  it  was  any  sacrifice  to 
me,  so  I  said,  "  The  bees  and  those  Spanish  hens  you 
reared  for  me,  Jack,  have  brought  me  quite  a  fortune 
this  year ;  and  besides,  I  had  something  left  from 
Uncle  Henderson's  present,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
spending  money  here  if  one  wished  it ; — and  you  will 
want  so  many  things." 

I  was  going  hastily  down  again,  to  avoid  burden- 
ing him  with  thanks,  when  he  came  after  me,  and 
replacing  the  money  in  my  hand,  said  laughing, 
"  Indeed,  my  good  little  sister,  I  cannot  rob  you  of 
your  frugal  earnings.  Hugh  Spencer  is  a  good 
fellow,  after  all,  at  bottom.  I  wrote  to  ask  him  for 
the  loan  of  a  few  pounds,  and  he  sent  me  ten.  I 
mean  to  pay  him  mth  my  first  prize  money.  The 
pay  is  barely  enough  for  a  gentleman  to  live  on. 
And  besides,"  he  added,  "  that  good  kantankerous 


184  THE  DIARY  OF 

old  Betty  has  actually  insisted  on  presenting  me  witL 
five  guineas.  I  quite  hesitated  to  take  it  from  her. 
But  she  said  it  had  all  been  earned  in  our  service ; 
and  '  Master's  son  must  look  like  a  Trevylyan ;  and 
what  use  had  she  for  money  ?  She  was  a  fool  ever 
to  have  hoarded  it !'  So  that  at  last  I  actually  had 
to  take  it  from  the  dear  old  soul,  to  spare  her  feel- 
ings, and  to  show  her  that  I  bore  no  malice  for  the 
quarrels  of  my  boyhood.  So  that  you  see,  Kitty, 
with  such  a  purse  it  would  be  mean  to  accept  any- 
thing more  from  you." 

Then,  seeing  me,  I  suppose,  look  j)erplexed  and 
grave,  he  took  the  packet  again  from  my  hand,  and 
opening  it,  withdrew  one  guinea,  and  gave  me  back 
the  other  with  the  air  of  a  benefactor,  saying, 
"  There,  my  poor  little  Kitty,  I  will  not  disappoint 
you.  I  will  keep  one  for  kindness'  sake,  and  to  buy 
you  a  fairing  with.  And  you  can  keep  the  other  to 
pay  Hugh  Spencer  for  your  cherry-colored  bow,  if 
like ;  or  any  other  little  bill,"  he  added,  "  which 
may  have  escaped  my  memory,  and  which  might  vex 
Father.'* 

And  Jack  returned  to  his  packing,  persuaded  he 
had  done  at  once  a  very  liberal  and  a  very  conscien- 
tious thing.  But  I  could  have  sunk  into  the  earth 
with  vexation  and  shame.  To  have  written  to  bor- 
row money  from  Hugh ;  to  have  accepted  Betty's 
hard-earned  savings  ;  what  would  he  do  next  ?  And 
then  those  terrible  words,  *'  any  other  little  hiU^^^ 
burnt  into  my  heart  like  a  drop  of  burning  acid. 

I  stood  irresolute. 

He  turned  to  me  with  his  good-humored,  easy 
Bmile,  and  said,  *'  What  is  it,  Kitty  ?  Can  I  do  any- 
thing else  to  oblige  you  ?" 


MUS.  KlTIl    TREVYLYAK  185 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  I  said,  summoning  all  my  courage, 
for  I  dreaded  very  much  to  grieve  him  on  that 
last  day,  "  would  you  mind  telling  me  if  you  have 
any  idea  to  whom  you  owe  those  other  little  bills  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  how  can  I  remember 
in  all  this  bustle  ?  Nothing  but  trifles  of  course. 
Let  me  see ;  there  were  a  pair  of  shoe-buckles  I  saw 
the  last  time  I  was  in  Falmouth,  at  Moses  the  Jew's, 
the  newest  fashion,  in  excellent  taste,  I  assure  you, 
just  such  as  I  know  Father  would  like  to  see  me  in. 
Yet  just  the  kind  of  trifle  I  would  not  trouble  him 
with.  But  that  would  not  matter  much  ;  Moses  is 
a  rich  man,  and  may  wait — only  Jews  don't  like  to 
wait.  I  care  more  about  Miss  Pawsey ;  she  lent  me 
half-a-guinea  a  few  weeks  since,  when  I  had  to  treat 
some  fellows  to  a  glass  in  honor  of  my  obtaining 
my  commission.  Yes ;  I  should  like  you  to  pay  Mss 
Pawsey,  Kitty.  And  if  there  is  anything  else,  no 
doubt,  the  people  will  let  you  know  in  time.  I  told 
them  never  to  apply  to  Father ;  so  that  if  any  one 
should  come  at  any  time  asking  particularly  for  me, 
you  will  know  what  it  means,  and  can  settle  it  at 
once  without  mentioning  it  to  Father  or  Mother. 
It  might  vex  them.  But  I  am  glad  I  thought  of 
telling  you,  because,  of  course,  I  coul^  not  write 
about  these  things;  and  now  my  mind  is  quite 
easy." 

And  the  next  morning,  as  Jack  was  riding  with 
Father,  he  reined  in  his  horse,  and  turning  back, 
took  off  his  military  hat  to  me  with  a  low  bow,  and 
beckoned  me  to  him,  and  said  softly  as  I  stood  close 
to  him : 

"Don't  cry  your  roses  away,  Kitty,  till  I  come 
back  from  Flanders,  and  you  all  have  to  come  to 
16* 


186  THE  DIARY  OF 

Court  to  see  me  knighted.  With  the  first  good  for- 
tune I  have  I  will  send  Hugh  Spencer  his  money, 
unless  he  is  a  bishop  first,  in  which  case,  of  course, 
he  would  not  need  it ;  and  with  the  next  I  will  buy 
an  annuity  for  Betty,  on  which  she  will  be  able  to 
live  like  a  duchess.  You  see  I  shall  make  all  your 
fortunes,  and  you  will  all  of  you  have  reason  to 
rejoice  in  having  befriended  the  hero  in  his  adversity ; 
and  it  will  be  as  good  as  a  fairy  tale." 

So  he  rode  away  and  rejoined  Father,  and  I  went 
back  to  Mother. 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you,  Kitty  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Is  anything  forgotten  ?" 

"  He  said  we  should  all  have  to  come  to  Court 
to  see  him  knighted,  and  that  he  would  make  all  our 
fortunes,"  I  said,  "  and  that  it  would  be  as  good  as  a 
fairy  tale." 

"  Poor  fellow  I"  she  said,  the  tears,  so  long  re- 
pressed, flowing  freely,  as  her  heart  was  touched 
with  this  proof  of  Jack's  generous  intentions.  "  Poor 
fellow  I  He  was  always  so  sanguine,  and  so  full  of 
generous  plans." 

But  I  could  not  shed  a  tear.  I  stood  and  felt 
like  a  stone.  The  weight  of  Jack's  secrets  seemed 
to  press  mj^  heart  into  marble.  And  I  felt  like  a 
traitor  to  be  making  Mother  glad,  when,  if  I  had 
told  her  all,  I  was  sure  she  would  feel  as  I  did. 

But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  The  guinea  will  pay  Miss 
Pawsey,  of  course,  and,  perhaps,  the  Jew,  if  I  could 
see  him.  But  I  am  so  grieved  about  Betty  and  Hugh 
Spencer.  How  in  all  my  life  shall  I  ever  be  able  to 
repay  them  ?  And  they  must  be  paid.  I  would 
work  day  and  night,  if  I  could  tell  how  to  earn  any- 
thing to  pav  them  with.    But  fifteen  guineas  1    It  is 


MRS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAir.  187 

a  fortune !  How  could  I  earn  a  guinea  witliou  fc 
Mother's  knowing  ?  And  would  it  even  be  true  to 
Father  and  Mother  to  do  this  if  I  could  ? 

Evelyn  could  help  me.  But  I  could  not  ask  her 
without  betraying  Jack: 

And  how  shall  I  ever  feel  safe  from  some  one  com- 
ing and  "  particularly  wanting  to  see"  Jack  ? 

Ought  not  Father  and  Mother  to  know  ? 

And  yet  would  it  not  almost  break  Mother's  heart  ? 

I  cannot  tell  her  yet,  at  least,  until  the  sorrow  of 
this  parting  is  a  little  healed.  For  this  is  a  sorrow 
which  seems  to  me  as  if  it  could  never  be  healed.  It 
is  not  the  money,  or  the  debts,  or  the  difficulty  of 
meeting  them.  It  is  Jack  himself  that  is  the  sorrow. 
What  will  he  do  next  ? 

I  cannot  bear  this  alone.  Whatever  the  trouble 
may  be,  it  is  clear  God  cannot  mean  it  to  make  me 
untruthful.  He  cannot  mean  it  to  make  me  do 
wrong.  Therefore,  there  must  be  some  way  out  of  it, 
some  one  right  way. 

And  God  knows  it.  I  will  ask  Him,  and  He  will 
surely  help  me  also  to  find  it,  and  to  take  it  when  I 
find  it,  however  rough  and  dark  it  may  be. 

Aunt  Jeanie  said  we  must  not  look  to  see  more 
than  the  next  step.  But  that  we  must  look  to  see,  as 
sure  as  God  is  true,  and  has  promised  to  lead  us. 

Yesterday  evening,  to  my  great  surprise,  Betty 
came  into  my  room  after  I  was  in  bed,  looking  wild 
and  haggard,  and  she  said, — 

"  Mrs.'  Kitty,  my  dear,  I  can  bear  it  no  longer. 
Whatever  comes  of  it,  I  must  go  and  hear  that  York- 
shireman  again.  He  is  to  preach  at  six  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning  on  the  Dov/n  above  the  house.    I 


188  TUE  DIARY  OF 

shall  be  back  again  before  Missis  wants  me,  for  n 
won't  last  more  than  an  hour.  And  if  she  is  angered, 
she  must  be  angered.  I  can  get  no  rest  night  nor 
day.  The  words  that  man  spoke  are  like  a  fire  in 
my  bones ;  and  hear  him  again  I  must.  I  can  but 
perish  either  way.  And  if  I  must  perish,  I  had  rather 
know  it." 

She  went  back  to  her  room.  But  I  could  not  sleep 
for  thinking  of  her  wan  wild  face.  It  haunted  me 
like  the  vision  of  some  one  murdered.  And  I  felt  as 
if  it  would  be  hardly  safe  to  let  her  go  alone. 

Accordingly,  when  Betty  crept  through  my  room 
the  next  morning  very  softly,  that  she  might  not 
wake  me,  I  was  already  dressed,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
remonstrances,  insisted  on  accomi^anying  her. 

The  appointed  place  of  meeting  was  in  a  slight 
holloAv  on  the  top  of  the  Down.  We  were  early,  and 
as  we  sat  down  on  a  tuft  of  withered  grass,  closely 
wrapped  in  our  hoods  and  cloaks,  waiting  for  the 
preaching  to  begin,  I  thought  I  had  never  been  in  a 
place  more  like  a  temple.  The  solemn  dawTi  was 
coming  up  in  the  east ;  and  I  always  think  nothing 
is  so  solemn  as  the  coming  up  of  the  morning.  There 
is  a  pomp  about  the  sunset  blending  with  its  tender 
lingering  tints ;  and  night  is  majestic  with  its  crown 
of  countless  stars ;  but  nothing  ever  seems  to  me  so 
grand  and  solemn  as  the  slow,  silent  spreading  of  the 
dawn  over  the  sleeping  world.  There  was  little 
color  yet,  only  that  steady  welling  up  of  the  light 
from  its  deep  hidden  fountain,  overflowing  all  the 
sky ;  the  great  tide  of  sunlight  rising  without  effort, 
without  conflict,  without  recoil,  scarcely  seeming  to 
advance,  yet  ceaselessly  advancing,  and  never  losing 
one  point  won  ;  till  the  clouds  from  mysterious  inde- 


jaU^a.  KIlTY  TBEYYLYAN.  189 

finite  "billows  of  mist  became  defined  purple  bars, 
through  which  we  gazed  into  the  depths  of  golden 
radiance  behind  ;  and  the  moon  paled  from  a  pearly 
lamp,  illuminating  the  dark,  to  a  silver  crescent 
floating  on  a  silvery  sea,  and  at  le'igth  sank  with  her 
stars  into  the  flood  of  simlight ;  and  the  sky  had 
become  full  of  light,  and  the  earth  full  of  color 
and  life.  Then  there  were  the  soft  twitterings  of 
the  waking  birds  in  the  wood  below  us,  and  the 
murmurs  of  the  waves  far  off  and  far  below,  and  the 
sweeping  of  the  winds  over  the  long  ranges  of  the 
dewy  moors. 

It  seemed  to  me  I  wanted  no  other  preaching,  or 
music.  But  the  silent  solemnity  of  the  dawn,  and 
the  murmurs  of  the  great  sea,  and  the  songs  of  birds, 
have  no  power  to  lift  the  burden  from  the  troubled 
conscience. 

That  work  is  committed  not  to  angels,  nor  to  na- 
ture (as  Hugh  Spencer  used  to  say),  but  to  poor 
blundering  sinful  human  beings,  who  have  felt  what 
the  burden  is. 

John  Nelson  was  there  already.  He  stood  ear- 
nestly conversing  with  a  little  group  of  men ;  and  I 
watched  the  frank  trustworthy  face,  and  the  tall 
stal worth  form,  with  no  little  interest,  remembering 
how  he  had  been  thrown  down,  and  trampled  on, 
and  bruised,  and  beaten  by  the  mobs  for  Christ's  sake, 
and  had  dared  the  same  rough  usage  again  and  again 
to  tell  them  the  same  message  of  mercy. 

At  length  the  congregation  began  to  assemble. 
Solitary  figures  creeping  up  from  the  farms  and  lone 
cottages  around,  miners  in  their  workirxg  clothes  on 
their  way  to  the  mines,  laborers  on  their  way  to  the 


190  THE  DIARY  OF 

fields,  and  from  the  nearer  villages  little  bands  ot 
poorly  clad  women  and  children. 

In  a  few  minutes  about  two  hundred  had  ranged 
themselves  around  the  preacher,  who  stood  on  a  hil- 
lock, his  tall  figure  and  strong  clear  voice  command- 
ing the  little  congregation,  so  that  he  spoke  easily, 
more  as  if  conversing  privately  than  preaching.  He 
said  he  would  give  us  some  of  his  ex]3erience,  as  it 
might  be  of  use  in  comforting  any  who  w^ere  in 
trouble. 

"  I  was  brought  up,"  he  said,  "  a  mason,  as  was  my 
father  before  me.* 

"  When  I  was  between  nine  and  ten  years  old,  I  was 
horribly  terrified  with  the  thoughts  of  death  and 
judgment  whenever  I  was  alone.  One  Sunday  night, 
as  I  sat  on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  my  father's 
chair,  while  he  was  reading  the  twentieth  chapter  of 
Revelation,  the  Word  came  with  such  light  and 
j)ower  to  my  soul  that  it  made  me  tremble,  as  if  a 
dart  w^as  shot  at  my  heart.  I  fell  with  my  face  oi? 
the  floor,  and  wept  till  the  place  was  as  w^t  where  I 
lay  as  if  water  had  been  poured  thereon.  As  my 
father  proceeded,  I  thought  I  saw  everything  he  read 
about,  though  my  eyes  were  shut.  And  the  sight 
was  so  terrible  I  was  about  to  stop  my  ears  that  I 
might  not  hear,  but  I  durst  not.  When  he  came  to 
the  eleventh  verse  my  flesh  seemed  to  creep  on  my 
bones  while  he  said,  ^And  I  sate  a  great  white  throne^ 
and  him  that  sat  thereon,  from  whose  face  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  fled  away  ;  and  there  was  found  no  place 
for  them.  And  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand 
lefore  Gcd:  and  tlie  hoohs  tccre  opened;  and  another 

*  John  Nelson's  Autobioirrnphy. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  191 

look  was  opened,  whicJi  is  the  hook  of  life :  and  the  dead 
were  judged  out  of  those  things  that  were  written  in  the 
"hooks,  according  to  their  works. "^  Oh,  what  a  scene  was 
opened  to  my  mind  I  It  was  as  if  I  had  seen  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  sitting  on  his  throne  with  the 
twelve  apostles  below  him ;  and  a  large  book  open 
at  Ins  left  hand ;  and,  as  it  were,  a  bar  fixed  about 
ten  paces  from  the  throne,  to  which  the  children  of 
Adam  came  up ;  and  every  one,  as  he  approached, 
opened  his  breast  as  quick  as  a  man  could  open  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt.  On  one  leaf  of  the  book  was 
written  the  character  of  the  children  of  God ;  and  on 
the  other,  the  character  of  those  that  should  not 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  I  thought  neither 
the  Lord  nor  the  apostles  said  anything ;  but  every 
soul  as  he  came  up  to  the  bar  compared  his  con- 
science with  the  book,  and  went  away  to  his  own 
place,  either  singing,  or  else  crying  and  howling. 
Those  that  went  to  the  right  hand  were  but  like  the 
r)tream  of  a  small  brook ;  but  the  others  were  like 
the  flowing  of  a  mighty  river. 

"  God  has  followed  me  with  convictions  ever  smce 
I  was  ten  years  old ;  and  whenever  I  committed  any 
known  sin  against  God  or  man,  I  used  to  be  so  terri- 
fied afterwards  that  I  shed  many  tears  in  private ; 
yet,  when  I  came  to  my  companions,  I  wiped  my  face, 
and  went  on  again  in  sin  and  folly.  But  oh,  the  hell 
I  found  in  my  mind  when  I  came  to  be  alone  again  I 
and  what  resolutions  I  made.  Nevertheless,  when 
temptations  came,  my  resolutions  were  as  a  thread  of 
tow  that  had  touched  the  fire. 

"  When  I  was  turned  sixteen  my  father  was  taken 
ill,  which  I  thought  was  for  my  wickedness  ;  yet,  at 
that  tim*^  ^^*^e  as  I  wo"^,  I  prayed  earnestly  that  God 


192  THE  DIARY  OF 

would  spare  him  for  the  sake  of  my  mother  and  the 
young  children,  b,nd  let  me  die  in  his  stead ;  but  the 
Lord  would  not  regard  my  prayer.  Three  days  be- 
fore he  died,  he  said  to  my  mother,  *  Trouble  not 
thyself  for  me ;  for  I  know  that  my  peace  is  made 
with  God,  and  he  will  provide  for  thee'  and  the 
children.'  I  was  greatly  surprised  at  this,  wonder- 
ing how  he  could  know  his  peace  was  made  with 
God. 

"  In  one  of  my  times  of  trouble  I  was  in  a  stable, 
and  falling  into  a  slumber,  I  dreamt  I  prayed  that 
God  would  make  me  happy.  But  I  thought,  what 
will  make  me  happy?  I  also  dreamt  that  I  beheld 
Jeremiah  the  prophet  standing  on  a  large  rock  at  the 
west  gate  of  Jerusalem.  His  countenance  was  grave, 
and  with  great  authority  he  reproved  the  elders  and 
magistrates  of  the  city ;  for  which  they  were  enraged, 
and  pulling  him  down,  cast  him  on  a  dunghill,  where 
the  butchers  poured  the  blood  of  their  slain  beasts. 
And  I  imagined  I  saw  them  tread  him  under  feet ; 
but  his  countenance  never  changed,  nor  did  he  cease 
to  cry  out,  '  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  If  ye  will  not  repent, 
and  give  glory  to  my  name,  I  will  bring  destruction 
on  you  and  your  city.'  He  seemed  so  composed  and 
happy  while  they  were  treading  him  under  their  feet, 
that  I  said  in  my  dream,  '  O  God,  make  me  like  Jere- 
miah.' And  since  then,  thou  Lord,  in  a  small  mea- 
sure, hast  given  me  a  taste  of  his  cup." 

Then  (he  said)  he  prayed  God  to  give  him  a  good 
wife ;  but  although  God  gave  him  the  most  suitable 
wife  he  believed  he  could  have  had,  after  his  marriage 
he  loved  pleasures  more  than  God.  Yet  his  pleasures 
wore  not  happiness ;  and  after  a  day  of  successful 
hunting  or  shooting,  he  felt  so  unhappy  that  ho  wag 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLTAK  193 

ready  to  break  liis  gun  in  pieces.  His  conscience  had 
found  no  rest.  He  went  from  home  to  seek  work, 
and  prayed  for  guidance,  and  the  Lord  blessed  him 
in  all  his  journey.  He  got  into  business  the  day  he 
arrived  in  London.  But  the  burden  of  sin  still 
weighed  on  his  heart.  Forty  times  a  day  he  would 
cry  for  mercy.  After  his  day's  work  he  sat  alone, 
and  read  and  prayed.  He  would  not  drink  with  his 
mates.  They  cursed  and  abused  him,  and  he  bore 
many  insults  from  them  without  opening  his  mouth 
to  answer.  But  when  they  took  his  tools  from  him, 
and  said,  if  he  would  not  drink  he  should  not  work 
while  they  were  drinking,  that  provoked  him,  so  that 
he  fought  with  several.  Then  they  let  him  alone; 
but  that  stifled  for  the  time  his  concern  for  his  salva- 
tion, and  he  left  off  reading  and  prayer,  in  a  great 
measure. 

Then  sickness  came,  and  with  it  a  horrible  dread, 
not  of  death,  but  of  the  judgment  that  should  follow. 
He  recovered,  and  was  restored  to  perfect  health. 
But  again  his  conscience  was  awake:  he  could  not 
rest  night  nor  day.  All  things  prospered  that  he 
pursued,  yet  he  felt  that  he  had  something  to  learn 
that  he  had  not  yet  learned ;  "  ITe  Tcneic  not^''''  he  said 
"  that  it  teas  the  great  lesson  of  love  to  God  and  many 

He  began  to  consider  what  he  wanted  to  make  him 
happy,  for  as  yet  he  was  as  a  man  in  a  barren  wilder- 
ness that  could  find  no  way  out.  Health  as  good  as 
any  man's ;  as  good  a  wife  as  he  could  wish  for ;  more 
gold  and  silver  than  he  needed,  yet  no  rest.  He  cried 
out  to  himself,  "  Oh,  that  I  had  been  a  cow  or  a 
sheep !"  He  thought  he  would  choose  strangling, 
rather  than  thirty  years  more  of  such  a  life.  But 
then  came  again  the  terrible  thought  of  the  judgment. 
17 


104 


TUE  DIARY  OF 


And  he  cried,  "  Oh,  that  I  had  never  been  bom  I"  for 
he  thought  his  day  of  grace  was  over,  because  he  had 
made  sc  many  resolutions  and  broken  them  all. 

"  Yet,"  he  continued,  "  I  thought  I  would  set  out 
once  more ;  for  I  said,  Surely  Ood  never  made  man  to  'be 
such  a  riddle  to  himself  and  to  leave  him  so  ;  there  must 
be  something  in  religion,  that  I  am  unacquainted 
with,  to  satisfy  the  empty  mind  of  man,  or  he  is  in  a 
worse  state  than  the  beasts  that  perish." 

(As  John  Nelson  spoke  these  words,  Betty's  down- 
cast head  was  raised,  her  hood  fell  back,  and  from 
that  moment  she  never  took  her  eyes  from  off  his 
face.) 

"  In  all  these  troubles,"  he  continued,  "  I  had  no 
one  to  open  my  mind  to ;  I  wandered  up  and  down 
in  the  fields,  thinking ;  I  went  from  church  to  church, 
but  found  no  ease.  One  minister  at  St.  Paul's 
preached  about  a  man  doing  his  duty  to  God  and 
his  neighbor,  and  on  his  death-bed  finding  joy  in  his 
heart  from  looking  back  to  his  well-spent  life.  Oh 
what  a  stab  that  sermon  was  to  my  wounded  soul ! 
for  I  looked  back  and  could  not  see  one  day  in  my 
life  in  which  I  had  not  left  undone  something  I 
ought  to  have  done,  or  done  something  I  ought  not 
to  have  done. 

"  Afterwards  I  heard  another  sermon,  wherein  the 
preacher  said,  that  man,  since  the  fall,  could  not  per- 
fectly fulfil  the  Avill  of  his  Maker ;  but  God  required 
him  to  do  all  he  could,  and  Christ  would  make  up 
the  rest ;  but  if  man  did  not  do  all  he  could  he  must 
unavoidably  perish;  for  he  had  no  right  to  expect 
any  interest  in  the  merits  of  Christ,  if  he  had  not  ful- 
filled hif}  part,  and  done  all  that  lay  in  his  power. 
Then,  thought  I,  every  soul  must  be  damned;  for  I 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAK  195 

did  not  believe  that  any  who  had  lived  to  years  of 
maturity  had  done  all  they  could,  and  avoided  all  the 
evil  they  might.  Oh  what  deadly  physic  was  that 
doctrine  to  my  poor  sin-sick  soul !" 

Then  he  tried  Dissenters  of  various  denominations, 
Roman  Catholics,  Quakers,  all  but  the  Jews.  To  the 
Quakers  he  listened  three  months,  because  among 
them  he  heard  one  who  seemed  to  describe  the  dis- 
ease of  his  soul ;  but,  alas !  he  showed  no  remedy. 

"  In  the  spring,"  he  said,  *'  Mr.  Whitetield  came  to 
Moorfields,  and  I  went  to  hear  him ;  he  was  to  me  as 
man  that  could  play  well  on  an  instrument,  for  his 
preaching  was  pleasant  to  me ;  and  I  loved  the  man, 
so  that  if  any  one  offered  to  disturb  him  I  was  ready 
to  fight  him." 

But  the  deliverance  did  not  come  through  Mr. 
Whitefield,  although  (he  said),  "  I  got  some  hope  of 
mercy,  so  that  I  was  encouraged  to  pray  and  read  the 
Scriptures.  But  I  was  like  a  wandering  bird  cast  out 
of  the  nest,  until  Mr.  John  Wesley  came  to  preach  his 
first  sermon  in  Moorfields.  Oh,  that  was  a  blessed 
morning  to  my  soul !  As  soon  as  he  got  upon  the 
stand,  he  stroked  back  his  hair,  and  turned  his  face 
towards  where  I  stood,  and  I  thought  fixed  his  eyes 
on  me.  His  countenance  struck  such  an  awful  dread 
upon  me  before  I  heard  him  speak,  it  made,  my  heart 
beat  like  a  pendulum,  and  when  he  did  speak  I 
thought  his  whole  discourse  was  aimed  at  me." 

(Betty  bowed  her  head  with  a  little  assenting 
moan,  and  murmured,  "  And  so,  s  ire  it  was !  Just 
like  him.") 

When  he  had  done,  I  said  :  "  This  man  can  tell  the 
secrets  of  my  heart.  He  hath  not  left  me  there,  for 
he  hath  showed  the  remedy,  even  the  blood  of  Jesus. 


196  THE  DIARY  OF 

Then  was  my  soul  filled  with  consolation,  through 
hope  that  God  for  Christ's  sake  would  save  me." 

Still  the  conflict  was  not  over ;  his  besetting  sin,  a 
hasty  temper,  got  the  better  of  him,  and  his  heart 
again  felt  as  hard  as  a  rock.  He  felt  unworthy  to  eat 
and  drink.  "  Should  such  a  wretch  as  he  devour  the 
good  creatures  of  God  ?"  He  resolved  neither  to  eat 
nor  drink,  till  he  found  the  kingdom  of  God.  He 
wept  tears  like  great  drops  of  rain,  he  kneeled  before 
the  Lord,  yet  he  felt  dunib  as  a  beast,  and  could 
not  put  up  one  petition ;  he  saw  himself  a  criminal 
before  the  Judge,  and  said,  in  his  overwhelming  sense 
of  guilt,  surrendering  himself  as  a  condemned  male- 
factor body  and  soul  to  God,  "  Lord,  thy  will  be 
done ;  damn  or  save." 

"  That  moment,"  he  said,  "  Jesus  Christ  was  evi- 
dently set  before  the  eye  of  my  mind,  as  crucified  for 
my  sins,  as  if  I  had  seen  him  with  my  bodily  eyes ; 
and  in  that  instant  I  was  set  at  liberty  from  every 
tormenting  fear,  and  filled  with  a  calm  and  serene 
peace.  I  could  then  say  without  any  dread  or  fear, 
*  Thou  art  my  Lord  and  my  God.'  Now  did  I  begin 
to  say,  *  O  Lord,  I  will  praise  thee :  though  thou  wast 
angry  with  me,  thine  anger  is  turned  away,  and  thou 
comfortest  me.  Behold,  God  is  my  salvation  :  I  will 
trust  and  not  be  afraid :  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  my 
strength  and  my  song.  He  also  is  become  my  salva- 
tion.' My  heart  was  filled  with  love  to  God,  and 
every  soul  of  man ;  next  to  my  wife  and  children,  my 
mother,  brothers,  sisters,  my  greatest  enemies  had 
an  interest  in  my  prayers,  and  I  cried,  *  O  Lord,  give 
me  to  see  my  desire  on  them;  let  them  experience 
Thy  redeeming  love.' 

"  In  the  afternoon,  I  opened  the  Book  where  it  is 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  11)7 

said,  '  Unto  Him  that  loved  us,  and  washed  us  from 
our  sins  in  His  own  blood,'  with  which  I  was  so 
affected,  that  I  could  not  read  for  weeping.  That 
evening,  under  Mr.  Wesley's  sermon,  I  could  do 
nothing  but  weep,  and  love,  and  praise  God  for  send- 
ing His  servant  into  the  fields  to  show  me  the  way 
of  salvation.  All  that  day  I  neither  ate  nor  drank 
anything ;  for  before  I  found  peace  the  hand  of  God 
was  so  heavy  on  me  that  I  refused  to  eat ;  and  after 
I  had  found  peace,  I  was  so  filled  with  the  manna  of 
redeeming  love,  that  I  had  no  need  of  the  bread  that 
perishes,  for  that  season." 

The  preacher  went  on,  but  I  heard  no  more,  for 
Betty  was  sitting  with  her  hands  clasped,  the  tears 
raining  over  her  rugged  face,  yet  with  such  an  ex- 
pression of  hope  on  it,  that  I  felt  I  could  safely  leave 
her ;  so  I  told  her  to  stay,  I  would  see  to  her  work, 
and  put  everything  right  by  the  time  she  came  back. 

As  I  went  down  the  hill  the  sound  of  a  hymn  fol- 
lowed me,  at  first  faint  and  broken,  but  soon  rising 
strong  and  clear  through  the  morning  air.  I  thought 
I  had  never  heard  pleasanter  music ;  and  as  I  lighted 
the  fire  and  got  the  breakfast  ready,  my  heart  sang, 
and  I  prayed  there  might  be  melody  also  in  poor 
Betty's  heart. 

She  came  back  before  any  one  had  missed  her. 

All  day  she  went  about  her  work  as  usual;  her 
face  looked  more  peaceful,  but  she  said  nothing,  and 
Betty's  silences  were  barriers  no  one  else  but  herself 
could  safely  attempt  to  break  down. 

In  the  evening,  while  Mother  and  I  were  sitting  by 

the  fire  alone,  and  I  preparing  to  confess  to  her  my 

having  accompanied  Betty  to  the  morning  preaching 

Betty  appeared  with  the  supper,  and  after  lingering 

IT* 


198  THE  DIARY  OlT 

about  tlie  tilings  until  I  thought  she  would  not  go  till 
Father  came  back,  and  I  should  be  left  for  the  night 
with  the  burden  of  my  morning  expedition  uncon- 
fessed,  suddenly  she  stood  still  and  said, — 

"  Missis,  I  may  as  well  out  with  it  at  once.  I  am 
going  to  hear  that  Yorkshireman  again  to-morrow. 
It's  no  good  fighting  against  it.  I  have  tried,  but  I 
shall  have  to  go." 

I  had  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  in  Betty's  narra- 
tive, as  clearly  as  I  could,  hastily  confessing  my  share 
in  it. 

Mother  looked  seriously  grieved. 

**  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  expect  this  of  you." 

*'  Mrs.  Kitty  went  to  take  care  of  me,"  interposed 
Betty.  "  She  thought  I  was  going  mazed — and  so  I 
was,  sure — and  Mrs.  Kitty  went  to  keep  me  from 
mischief." 

"Betty,"  said  Mother,  very  gravely,  "I  cannot 
sanction  your  going  to  any  such  places.  You  know 
I  never  hinder  your  going  to  church  as  often  as  you 
like,  and  I  am  sure  Parson  Spencer  is  a  very  good 
man;  and  there  are  the  lessons  and  the  prayers. 
What  can  you  want  more  ?" 

"I  am  not  saying  anything  against  our  parson, 
Missis,"  said  Betty  ;  "I'd  as  lief  say  anything  against 
the  King  and  the  Parliament.  I've  no  doubt  that  what 
he  says  is  all  right  in  its  way.  But  ever  since  I  heard 
Parson  Wesley,  I've  had  a  great  thorn  fretting  and 
rankling  in  my  heart,  and  our  parson's  sermons  can 
no  more  take  that  out,  than  they  could  take  a  rotten 
tooth  out  of  my  head.  It  isn't  to  be  expected  they 
should ;  they're  not  made  for  such  rough  doctor's 
work.  But  that  Yorkshireman's  can.  He  made  me 
feel  better  this  morning  and  I  must  hear  him  again. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  199 

And  tlien,  Missis,  when  I've  got  rid  of  the  burden 
on  my  heart,  I  can  sit  easy  and  hearken  to  Parson 
Spencer.  For  no  doubt  his  discourses  are  uncommon 
fine.  I'd  as  lief  listen  to  him  as  to  the  finest  music 
I  ever  heard.  Only  it's  not  to  be  expected  that  the 
finest  music  '11  stop  a  sore  heart  from  aching." 

"  But  the  Bible  is  made  for  that,"  said  Mother ; 
"  and  you  hear  that  every  Sunday  in  church." 

"  Yes,  sure,  and  so  I  do  from  the  Yorkshireman  ; 
but  he  has  a  way  of  picking  out  the  bits  that  suit 
you,  picking  them  out  and  laying  them  on,  as  you 
did  the  herb  lotion.  Missis,  last  week  when  I  bruised 
my  side.  The  herbs  vfcre  in  the  garden  before,  sure 
enough,  but  I  might  have  walked  among  them  till 
doomsday,  and  my  side  been  no  better." 

Mother  sighed. 

"  Take  care,  Betty,"  she  said,  "  that  you  do  not 
pick  out  the  texts  you  M"^,  instead  of  those  that 
really  suit  you.  Bitters,"  sighed  Mother,  "  are  better 
than  sweets  often." 

"  And  bitter  enough  they  were  to  me,"  said  Betty; 
ii^s  my  belief  it  is  the  smart  that  did  me  the 
good." 

"  Well,  Betty,"  said  Mother,  "  I  cannot  sanc- 
tion it." 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Missis,"  said  Betty,  "  of  course 
you  can't.  I  never  thought  you  could.  But  I 
thought  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  before  I  went. 

Mother  shook  her  head,  and  Betty  went ;  for  be- 
yond this  right  of  mutual  protest  our  domestic 
government  with  regard  to  her  does  not  extend. 

Betty  went,  and  returned,  and  said  nothing.  Nor 
did  she  give  occasion  to  Mother  to  say  anything. 


200  THE  DIARY  OF 

The  cooking  was  blameless,  the  floors  spotless, 
Father's  meals  punctual  to  a  minute.  Only  there 
was  an  unusual  quiet  in  the  kitchen,  and  on  Satur- 
day old  Roger  said  to  me  privately, — 

"  I  can!t  think  what's  come  over  Betty,  Mrs.  Kitty. 
She's  so  cruel  kind !  and  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  She 
hasn't  given  me  a  sharp  word  for  nigh  a  week,  and 
I  can't  say  what'U  come  of  it.  It  makes  me  quite 
wisht.  They  say  folks  with  Betty's  tempers  fall  into 
that  way  when  they're  like  to  die.  And  in  the 
evening  she  sits  and  spells  over  the  great  Bible  yea 
brought  her  from  London.  It's  quite  unnatural, 
Mrs.  Kitty ;  I  didn't  like  to  tell  Missis,  for  fear  she 
should  take  on  about  it,  she's  so  tender-heaile.d ;  but 
I  couldn't  help  telling  you.  The  Methodists  be 
terrible  folk ;  they  say  in  my  country  up  to  Dart- 
moor that  they  know  more  than  they  ought  to  know, 
and  I  shouldn't  like  them  to  ill-wish  Betty.  I  used  to 
thiak  her  tongue  was  a  trifle  sharp  by  times,  but  the 
place  is  cruel  wisht  without  it  and  mortal  lonesome  ; 
and  I'd  give  somewhat  to  hear  her  fling  out  with 
a  will  once  more,  poor  soul." 

Every  other  Sunday  afternoon  has  always  been  one 
of  my  most  delightful  times.  There  is  no  service 
then  in  our  parish  church.  The  vicar  rides  to  a 
daughter-church  some  miles  off,  too  far  for  us  to 
reach,  and  we  have  the  whole  afternoon  for  quiet. 
Father  and  Jack  used  commonly  to  walk  round  the 
farm  with  Trusty,  ^Mother  sits  alone  in  the  porch- 
closet,  and  I  spend  the  time  alone  in  my  own  cham- 
ber, or  in  the  old  apple-tree  in  the  garden. 

Last  Sunday  afternoon  I  was  sitting,  as  usual,  at 
my  chamber  window.     The  casement  was  open,  and 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYA2r.  SOI 

it  was  SO  still  tliat  the  hum  of  the  few  stray  bees 
buzzing  in  the  sunshine  around  the  marigolds  in  the 
garden  below,  came  up  to  me  quite  clearly.  But  the 
bees  were  evidently  only  doing  a  little  holiday  work 
quite  at  their  leisure. 

I  almost  fancied  I  could  hear  the  waving  of  the 
grass  on  the  hill-side,  as  it  bent  before  the  quiet 
breeze ;  and  I  could  hear  distinctly  the  crunching  of 
the  grass  which  Daisy  was  croj)pmg  in  the  Home- 
park.  And  below  all  these  intermittent  sounds  went 
on  the  quiet,  unintermittent  flow  of  the  little  runnel 
through  the  stone  channel  into  the  trough  where  the 
cattle  were  watered. 

The  spring  was  over  with  its  songs  and  nest- 
buildings,  the  summer  with  its  i)ower  of  ripening 
sunshine,  the  harvest  with  its  anxieties  and  its 
merry-makings.  The  sun  had  nothing  more  to  do 
but  to  smile  from  his  depths  of  golden  light  on 
his  finished  sheaves  and  ripened  fruit. 

The  earth,  too,  had  done  her  work  for  the  year, 
and  was  couching  at  rest,  and  quiet,  like  the  laboring 
oxen  in  the  streak  of  golden  sunshme  at  the  top  of 
the  field  opposite  my  window. 

There  was  a  ripe  calm,  and  a  sacred  stillness  over 
everything,  which  made  me  feel  as  if  I  knew  what  the 
Bible  meant  by  the  "  shadow  of  the  wings  "  of  God. 
For  where  "  shadow  "  and  "  God  "  are  spoken  of 
together,  shadow  cannot  mean  shade  and  darkness, 
but  only  shelter,  and  safety,  and  repose.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  earth  were  nestling  under  great, 
warm,  motherly  wings. 

My  Bible  lay  open  on  my  knee,  but  I  had  not  been 
reading  for  some  time.  I  had  not  consciously  been 
thinking  or  even  praying,  my  whole  heart  resting 


S5Ua  THE  DIARY  OF 

silently  in  the  presence  of  God,  as  the  earth  around 
me  lay  silent  in  the  sunshine :  conscious  of  His 
presence  as  the  dumb  creatures  are  conscious  of  the 
sunshine,  as  a  babe  is  conscious  of  its  mother's  smile, 
neither  listening,  nor  adoring,  nor  entreating,  nor 
remembering,  nor  hoping,  but  simply  at  rest  in  God's 
love. 

It  seemed  like  waking,  when  a  low  murmur  below 
my  window  recalled  me  again  to  thought. 

It  was  the  broken  murmur  of  a  woman's  voice. 
The  room  immediately  under  mine  was  the  kitchen, 
and  as  I  leant  out  of  the  window  and  listened,  I  per- 
ceived that  the  voice  was  Betty's. 

I  went  down  stairs  into  the  conrt,  and  as  I 
passed  the  kitchen  window,  I  saw  Betty  sitting  there 
with  her  large  new  Bible  open  before  her  on  the 
white  deal  table. 

It  was  a  long  window  with  several  stone  mullions, 
and  casements  broken  into  diamonded  panes.  The 
casement  at  which  Betty  sat  was  oi^en.  The  cat  was 
perched  on  the  sunny  sill,  and  Trusty  was  coiled  up 
on  the  grass-grown  pavement  beneath. 

Betty  was  bending  eagerly  over  the  book ;  the 
plump  fingers  she  was  accustomed  to  rely  on  in 
so  many  useful  works,  could,  by  no  means,  be  dis- 
missed from  service  in  a  work  so  laborious  to  her 
as  reading  a  book ;  and  her  lips  followed  their 
slow  tracing  of  the  lines,  as  if  she  would  assure 
herself  by  various  senses  of  the  reality  of  the  im- 
pressions conveyed  to  her  by  the  letters.  As  she 
bent  thus  absorbed  in  her  subject,  I  noticed  how 
much  power  was  expressed  in  the  firm,  well-defined 
lips  and  in  the  broad,  square  brow,  from  which 
the  dark  gray  hair  was  brushed  back ;  and,  indeed, 


3{nS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAK.  203 

in  eyery  rugged  line  of  the  strongly  marked  face. 
As  I  approached,  she  looked  up,  startled  by  a  little 
movement  of  the  cat,  and  by  a  musical  yawn  from 
Trusty  as  he  stretched  himself,  and  rose  to  welcome 
me. 

Our  eyes  met.  Betty  seemed  to  think  it  necessary 
to  apologize  for  her  unusual  occupation,  and  she 
said, — 

"  I  was  only  looking,  Mrs.  Kitty,  to  see  if  what 
that  Yorksliireman  said  is  true." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  noble  women  of 
Berea  ;  and  leaning  on  the  window-sill,  I  listened. 

"  For  you  know,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  "  if 
his  w^ords  made  my  heart  as  happy  as  a  king's,  what 
good  is  it  if  they  w^ere  only  his  own  words  ?  But 
if  it's  here^  it's  not  his  but  the  Lord's,  and  then  it'll 
stand." 

"  Then  his  words  did  make  your  heart  light, 
Betty  ?"  I  said. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  'twas  not  his  words  at  all. 
It's  all  here^  and  has  been  here,  of  course,  ages  before 
he  or  I  w^as  bom,  only  I  never  saw  it  before.'' 

And  turning  the  Bible  so  that  I  might  see,  she 
traced  with  her  finger  the  words, — 

''''All  we^  like  sheep^  have  gmie  astray  ;  ice  Jiave  turned 
every  one  to  Ma  own  way ;  and  the  Lord  hath  laid  on 
Him  the  iniquity  of  us  alV 

"  There's  a  deal  more,  as  good  as  that,  my  dear," 
she  said ;  "  but  I  keep  coming  back  to  that,  because 
it  was  that  that  healed  up  my  heart." 

Her  eyes  were  moist,  and  her  voice  was  soft  and 
quiet  as  she  w^ent  on, — 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,  the  cure  was  as  quick  as  the  hurt. 
Just  as  Mr.  Wesley's  words  went  right  to  the  core  of 


204  THE  DIARY  OF 

my  lieart  in  a  moment,  and  made  it  like  one  great 
wound,  feeling  I  was  a  lost,  ungrateful,  sinful  woman, 
— tlicse  words  went  right  to  the  heart  of  the  wound, 
and  flowed  like  sweet  healing  balm  all  through  it,  so 
that  just  where  the  anguish  had  been  the  worst,  the 
joy  was  greatest.  Not  a  drop  of  the  sorrow  but 
Beemed  swallowed  up  in  a  larger  drop  of  the  joy. 
For  it  was  not  thinking,  Mrs.  Kitty,  it  was  seeing.  I 
saw  in  my  heart  the  blessed  Lord  himself,  T*dth  all 
my  sins  laid  upon  Him,  and  He,  while  He  was 
stretched,  bleeding,  there  on  the  cross,  all  alone,  and 
pale,  and  broken-hearted  with  the  anguish  of  the 
burden,  the  burden  of  my  sins,  seeming  to  say  "uith 
His  kind  looks  all  the  time,  'J  am  not  unwilling^  I  am 
quite  content  to  'bear  it  all  for  tliee?  And  oh,  my  dear, 
my  heart  felt  all  right  that  very  moment.  I  can't  say 
it  felt  light,  for  it  seemed  as  if  there  lay  upon  me  a 
load  of  love  and  gratitude  heavier  than  the  old  load 
of  sin,  but  it  was  all  sweet,  my  dear,  it  is  all  sweet, 
and  I  would  not  have  it  weigh  an  atom  lighter  for 
the  world." 

I  could  not  speak,  I  could  only  bow  down  and  rest 
my  face  on  Betty's  hand,  as  I  held  it  in  mine.  We 
were  silent  a  long  time,  and  then  I  said, — 

"  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Nelson  ?" 

"  He  came  and  asked.  I  had  set  myself  as  firm  as 
a  rock,  that  there  should  be  no  crying,  and  i^raying, 
and  singing  over  me,  Mrs.  Kitty,  but  I  was  so  broken 
down  with  the  joy,  that  I  didn't  mind  what  any  one 
did  or  thought  about  me,  but  sat  crying  like  a  ]30or 
fool  as  I  am,  until  Mr.  Nelson  came  up  to  me  quite 
quiet  and  gentle,  and  asked  if  anything  ailed  me, 
and  then  I  said,  '  You  may  thank  the  Lord  for  me, 
Mr.  Nelson,  for  to  my  dying**day,  I  shall  thank  the 


3IRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  205 

Lord  for  you,  and  that  you  eyer  came  to  these  parts.' 
Then  he  asked  what  it  was,  and  I  told  him  all,  Mrs. 
Kitty,  as  I  have  told  you,  and  he  looked  mighty 
pleased,  and  said  it  was  being  converted ;  and  said 
something  about  the  '  inward  witness,'  '  the  witness 
of  the  Spirit.'  But  what  that  meant  I  knew  no  more 
than  a  new-bom  babe,  and  I  told  him  so.  I  knew 
my  heart  had  been  as  heavy  as  a  condemned  murder- 
er's, and  now  I  was  as  happy  as  a  forgiven  child, 
and  all  through  seeing  the  blessed  Lord  in  my  heart. 
And  they  all  smiled  very  pleasant,  and  said  that  was 
enough,  and  that  what  more  there  was  to  learn,  if  I 
kept  on  reading  the  Bible,  and  went  to  church,  the 
Lord  would  teach  me  all  in  time.  But  I  felt  I  could 
bear  no  more  just  then,  so  I  wished  them  all  good 
day  and  went  home  alone.  For  I  was  afraid  of  losing 
the  great  joy,  Mrs.  Kitty,  if  I  talked  too  much  about 
it.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  got  a  new  treasure,  and  I 
wanted  to  come  home  and  turn  it  over,  and  look 
at  it,  and  make  sure  it  was  all  true,  and  all  really 
mine." 

"  You  spoke  of  seeing^  Betty,"  I  said,  "  but  you  had 
no  visions  or  dreams." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  and  I  don't  want  any.  I  don't 
see  how  it  could  be  plainer  than  it  is.  And  I  found 
it  quite  true,"  she  went  on,  "  about  the  Lord  teach- 
ing me  at  church.  It  is  strange  I  never  noticed  be- 
fore how  the  parson  says  every  Sunday  in  the  pray- 
ers, so  much  that  John  Nelson  told  me.  'All  we, 
like  sheep,  have  gone  astray;'  and  about  the  for- 
giveness of  sins,  and  all.  The  prayers  seemed  won- 
derful and  plain  to  me  to-day,  Mrs.  Kitty;  but  1 
can't  say  I've  got  to  the  length  as  yet  of  understand- 
ing our  parson.  But,  oh  my  dear,"  she  concluded, 
18 


206  TBE  DIARY  OF 

*'  it  is  a  great  mercy  for  us  ignorant  folks  that  the 
Bible  does  seem  the  plainest  of  all !" 

Then  I  left  Betty  again  to  her  meditations,  and 
went  up  for  the  precious  half  hour  with  Mother,  be- 
fore Father  came  back  from  the  fields.  And  I 
thought  it  right  to  tell  her  as  well  as  I  could  what 
Betty  had  told  me.  She  was  interested  and  touched, 
and  looked  very  grave  as  she  said, — 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  can  say  against  it,  Kitty. 
Your  Father  thinks  that  John  Nelson  is  a  very  re- 
markable man.  Anything  which  makes  a  person 
keep  their  temper,  and  love  to  read  the  Bible,  and 
go  to  church,  does  seem  in  itself  good.  But  I  think 
Betty  is  quite  wise  to  wish  to  be  alone,  and  not  to 
talk  too  much  about  it.  It  seems  to  me  we  want  all 
the  strength  religion  can  give  us  for  the  doing  and 
the  enduring,  so  that  there  is  little  to  spare  for  the 
talking,  or  to  waste  in  mere  emotion." 

"  Yet,  Mother,"  I  said,  "  it  is  love,  is  it  not,  which 
strengthens  us  both  to  do  and  to  endure,  and  love 
has  its  joys  and  sorrows  as  well  as  its  duties." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  many  sorrows,  and 
also  joys.  Yet,  Kitty,  love  is  proved^  not  by  its  joys 
and  sorrows,  which  are  so  much  mixed  up  with  self, 
but  by  duty.  God  said,  '  I  will  have  obedience,  and 
not  sacrifice ;'  and  I  think  that  means  that  God  will 
have,  not  the  ofi^ering  of  this  or  that  in  the  luxury  of 
devotion,  but  the  sacrifice  of  self ;  for  obedience  is 
nothing  else  than  the  sacrifice  of  self." 

"  Yet,  Mother,"  said  I,  *'  if  the  love  is  so  deep  that 
it  makes  the  obedience  a  delight,  can  that  be  a  mis- 
take?" 

"  That  would  be  heaven,  child  1"  she  said.    "  But  T 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN'.  207 

think  none  but  great  saints  have  experienced  that  on 
earth,  at  least  not  constantly." 

'*  Yet,  Mother,"  I  said,  "  it  seems  to  me,  the  more 
one  is  like  a  little  child,  with  God,  the  more  one  does 
delight  to  obey." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  little  children  that  are  the  great 
saints,  Kitty,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

"  But  you  think  we  need  not  trouble  Betty  about 
what  she  feels.  Mother,"  said  I,  "  she  seems  so  gentle 
and  happy  ?" 

"  I  think  we  must  wait  and  see,"  said  Mother. 

And  so  our  conversation  ended. 

Can  it  have  been  only  yesterday  morning  I  was  sit- 
tiDg  mending  Mother's  mittens  in  the  hall  window, 
when  Hugh  Spencer  came  in,  and,  after  just  wishing 
me  good-day,  asked  where  Mother  was,  and  left  me 
to  go  and  find  her  ? 

It  seems  so  much  longer. 

I  felt  surprised  that  he  should  have  no  more  to  say 
to  me,  when  we  had  not  met  for  months,  and  he  had 
been  ordained  in  the  meantime.  I  thought  his  mind 
must  be  full  of  the  "  subject  (or  object)"  in  which  he 
and  Evelyn  are  "equally  interested."  And  I  sup- 
posed he  wanted  to  consult  Mother  about  it,  thinking 
me  too  inexperienced  or  too  much  of  a  child  to  be 
able  to  give  any  advice  worth  having. 

I  did  feel  rather  hurt,  and  then  I  began  to  be 
afraid  I  might  have  shown  him  that  I  felt  vexed,  and 
received  him  stiffly  and  coldly.  And  I  resolved 
when  he  came  in  again  (if  he  came)  to  speak  quite 
as  usual  to  him.  What  right,  indeed,  had  I  to  feel 
hurt  ?  Of  course  Mother  was  a  better  counsellor  for 
any  one  than  I  could  be ;  and  every  one  could  see 


208  THE  DIARY  OF 

how  much  better  Evelyn's  opinion  was  worth  having 
than  mine.  But  then  my  thoughts  went  off  into 
quite  another  channel. 

For  some  days  it  had  been  becoming  clearer  and 
clearer  to  me  that  the  way  out  of  the  difficulty  about 
Jack's  debts  was  simply  to  consult  Hugh.  He  al- 
ready knew  the  worst  of  it,  since  Jack  had  written 
to  beg  of  him  himself.  I  had  paid  Miss  Pawsey  al- 
ready, and  I  thought  I  would  ask  him  to  settle  with 
the  Jew,  and  to  take  the  rest  of  what  I  had  for  his 
own  loan  (of  course  not  saying  the  money  was  mine). 
So  I  sat  thinking  how  best  to  begin,  and  making  a 
number  of  imaginary  speeches,  in  reply  to  an  equal 
number  of  possible  observations  of  Hugh's,  when  he 
returned. 

He  was  alone,  and  I  resolved  not  to  lose  a  minute. 
So,  without  looking  up  from  Mother's  mittens  (for 
Jack's  reputation  was  concerned,  and  it  was  a  deli- 
cate matter  to  negotiate,  and  I  felt  nervous),  I  began 
at  once  (forgetting  all  my  speeches),  at  what  was  cer- 
tainly the  wrong  end.  I  said,  speaking  very  fast,  and 
feeling  myself  coloring  crimson  as  I  spoke, — 

"Hugh,  some  time  since  Jack  bought  a  cheriy- 
'^lored  ribbon  for  me,  and  he  said  you  paid  for  it, 
and  he  left  me  some  money — at  least  he  told  me 
about  it." 

"  And  will  you  not  accept  even  a  cherry-colored 
ribbon  from  me,  Mrs.  Kitty  ?"  said  Hugh. 

Still  I  did  not  look  up ;  but  I  said, — 

*'  It  was  not  exactly  that  Jack  told  me ;  it  was 
about  the  other  money  you  lent  him,  and  I  am  to  pay 
it  you  by  degrees." 

And  there  I  stopped,  having  become  inextricably 
perplexed  between  the  difficulty  of  not  telling  a 


MliS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  209 

Btory,  and  of  not  betraying  tlie  fact  that  I  was  to 
pay  Jack's  debts  with  my  own  money. 

Then  Hugh  spoke,  and  his  voice  was  very  gentle 
and  low,  for  he  was  standing  quite  near  me^;  and  he 
said, — 

"  Kitty,  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  quite  a  dif- 
ferent subject." 

And  then  I  looked  up,  lor  I  thought  of  Evelyn's 
letter. 

But  we  did  not  say  anything  more  that  evening 
about  Jack's  debts. 

Indeed,  I  do  not  know  what  we  said. 

Nor,  when  Hugh  went  home  and  Mother  came  in, 
did  she  say  much. 

She  only  took  me  to  her  heart,  and  murmured, 
"  My  darling  child !" 

But  I  do  not  feel  any  more  anxiety  about  the  "  sub- 
ject (or  object)"  in  which  Evelyn  or  Hugh  are  "  equally 
interested." 

To  think  that  Hugh  had  been  wishing  this  so  many 
years ! 

Only  I  am  not  half  worthy  of  Hugh  and  his  l'>ve. 

Yet  God  can  make  me  even  that,  in  time. 
18* 


VII. 


f  THINK  no  one  ever  had  so  many  kinds  of  hap- 
piness mixed  together  in  their  cup  as  I  have. 
I  can  hardly  ever  get  beyond  *'  adoration " 
and  "  thanksgiving "  in  my  "  acts  of  piety  "  now, 
except  when  I  have  to  make  "  confession "  of  not 
having  been  half  thankful  enough. 

For  Hugh  is  to  be  his  father's  curate,  and  Parson 
Spencer  told  Mother  that  it  has  always  been  under- 
stood that,  after  him,  the  living  will  be  given  to 
Hugh,  so  that  we  are  to  have  the  great  joy,  Hugh 
and  I,  of  having  it  for  our  business  in  life,  to  do  all 
the  good  we  can  all  our  lives  long  to  those  who  have 
known  us  from  our  childhood.  All  the  good  we  can  in 
every  kind  of  way.  Other  people  have  it  for  their  call- 
ing, the  thing  given  them  to  do,  to  fight  in  the  King's 
armies,  or  to  make  laws,  or  to  make  other  people 
keep  them,  or  to  buy  and  sell,  or,  like  Betty,  to  make 
butter  and  scrub  floors,  doing  what  good  they  can, 
by  the  way,  or  after  their  work  is  done ;  but  doing 
good  is  to  be  our  business,  profession,  study,  always, 
every  day,  Hugh's  and  mine.  In  the  morning  we  are 
to  think  who  there  are  around  us  to  be  helped  or 
comforted,  turned  out  of  the  wrong  Avay,  cheered  on 
in  the  right.  With  others,  maintenance,  traffic,  are 
necessary  objects.    We  need  not  have  one  selfish  ob- 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  211 

ject  in  life.  The  poorest  must  feel  there  is  always 
one  door  in  the  parish  from  which  they  will  not  be 
turned  away.  Those  who  have  sunk  the  lowest  must 
feel  that  there  is  always  one  hand  that  will  not  fear 
to  be  polluted  by  touching  them  to  lift  them  up. 

And  all  this  will  not  be  a  romantic  enterprise  for 
us,  but  simple,  plain  duty,  which  is  so  much  sweeter. 

For  Hugh  says  it  is  a  desecration  of  the  endow- 
ments which  were  given  of  old  for  sacred  puq^oses, 
when  the  clergy  treat  their  incomes  as  if  they  were 
like  any  common  produce  of  traffic,  or  estate  of  in- 
heritance, or  w^ages  of  secular  work.  It  is  consecrated 
wealth  still,  he  says ;  and  when  we  have  used  what 
we  need  for  a  simple  and  unpretentious  household, 
we  owe  our  superfluous  stores  to  the  Church  and 
the  poor.  All  Christians,  he  says,  are  indeed 
stewards  of  consecrated  wealth,  but  the  clergy,  he 
thinks,  more  especially.  It  would  be  a  disgrace,  he 
thinks,  if  the  distinction  between  the  Popish  clergy 
and  ours  were  that  ours  are  secularized  into  mere 
thrifty  farmers,  or  little  squires.  It  is  not  in  devoted- 
ness  we  should  differ  from  the  ancient  priesthood. 

I  am  afraid  it  is  the  parsonesses  that  put  things 
wrong  sometimes.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  a  hindrance 
to  Hugh.  I  must  not  grudge  his  going  out  in  the 
evening  on  any  summons  of  duty,  on  stormy  nights, 
even  though  he  may  seem  wearied  already  with  the 
day's  work.  I  must  not  let  any  womanish  fears  pre- 
vent his  visiting  the  sick,  even  though  the  sickneas 
be  deadly  contagious  pestilence.  Should  I  be  les?.  . 
brave  than  a  soldier's  wife,  or  a  poor  fisherman's? 
Men  are  meant  to  peril  their  lives  and  to  wear  out 
their  strength  in  work,  Hugh  says ;  and  if  the  par- 
s'>n's  calling  were  to    be  without    its    perils    and 


212  .THE  DIARY  OF 

toils,  it  would  be  less  manly  tlian  the  sailor's,  or  tLe 
sheplierd's,  or  the  miner's,  or  any  other  working 
man's  and  therefore  less  Christian. 

Easy  things  for  me  to  intend ;  but  not  so  easy  to 
do,  when  the  peril  or  the  trial  comes  I  Yet  if  wo  are 
to  have  the  true  blessing  of  our  calling,  we  must  go 
forth  to  it,  Hugh  says,  not  as  a  paradise,  but  as  a 
campaign.  And  then  it  will  be  we^  always  we !  and 
that  makes  all  the  difference. 

Yet  how  could  I  bear  to  take  all  this  happiness  if 
it  were  to  bring  loss  to  Mother,  if  I  caught  her  tender 
eyes  eveiy  now  and  then  watching  me  wistfully,  and 
filling  with  tears, — and  she  still  so  feeble.  But  this 
will  scarcely  take  me  from  her, — not  at  all  at  first,  foi 
we  are  to  have  our  home  under  this  dear  old  roof,— 
so  that  it  will  be  all  gain  to  Mother  and  to  Father 
too.  And  then  I  have  some  one  to  consult  about 
everything.  Because  (and  that  is  another  especial 
blessing)  Hugh  knows  already  all  about  us  all.  He 
has  watched  Mother  as  anxiously  as  I  have ;  and  we 
can  x:)lan  together  about  the  best  way  of  helping  Jack, 
without  my  telling  him  anything  more  of  the  things 
I  scarcely  could  have  told  even  Hugh,  if  he  had  not 
known  them  before. 

Hugh  is  not  at  all  hopeless  about  Jack,  although 
he  knows  all;  but  he  says  he  seems  like  one  in  a 
dream,  and  he  does  think  it  must  be  a  rough  call 
that  will  wake  him. 

Father  and  Betty  are  so  busy  clearing  out  and 
repairing  the  rooms  in  the  older  j^art  of  the  house, 
which  are  to  be  ours, — delightful  old  rooms  with 
great  stone  chimneys,  and  one  in  a  tower  with  a  long 
arched  window,  which  is  to  be  Hugh's  own  den.  It 
is  high  up,  and  from  the  casement,  through  an  open- 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  213 

ing  of  the  Mils,  you  catcli  one  glimpse  of  the  sea, — «i 
bright  line  of  light  on  sunny  days,  at  evening  a  dim 
heaving  cloud  of  purple  against  the  green  gold  of  the 
sunset ;  and  always,  Hugh  says,  a  path  for  thought 
to  sail  on,  out  into  the  wide  world. 

Hugh  and  I  have  dived  into  forgotten  stores  in  the 
lumber-room,  and  fished  up  wonderful  pearls  in  the 
shape  of  oaken  chairs,  which  only  want  their  backs 
*mended,  and  tables  which  only  want  a  leg  or  two  to 
be  quite  stately. 

Betty  thinks  little  of  these  discoveries,  saying  con- 
cisely that  ten  shillings'  worth  of  furniture  from  the 
shop  in  Falmouth  is  worth  them  all.  But  then,  carv- 
ing and  associations  have  no  value  in  Betty's  inven- 
tory. 

She  thinks  much  more  of  Mother's  purchases  and 
manufactures,  although  she  says  clothes  in  these  days 
are  mere  cobwebs  compared  to  the  stuflfs  of  our  fore- 
fathers, when  Master's  great-grandmother's  wedding- 
dress  survived  to  become  a  christening  robe  for 
Master,  and  after  that  a  covering  for  the  best  sofa, 
and  looked  as  good  as  new  to  the  last. 

But  Mother  and  Betty  have  become  quite  confi- 
dential once  more  over  the  matter,  Betty's  sober  and 
conservative  views  about  woolseys  and  linseys  having 
in  some  measure  restored  the  confidence  in  her  judg- 
ment, so  much  impaired  in  Mother's  mind  by  her 
views  about  the  Methodists. 

Hugh  said  the  other  day  there  is  no  doubt  Mr. 
John  Wesley  would  recognise  Mother  to  be  a  most 
saintly  woman,  if  he  knew  her;  and  that  he  feels 
sure,  if  Mother  knew  Mr.  John  Wesley,  his  life  of 
labor,  his  entire  devotion  to  God,  his  unlimited  be 


214  THE  DIARY  OF 

uevolence  and  beneficence  to  man,  his  attachment  to 
the  Church  services,  she  would  revere  him  as  next  to 
the  Apostles.  It  is  the  greatest  trial  of  Reformers, 
he  thinks,  that  they  have  often  to  be  blamed  and 
misunderstood  by  the  good  men  and  women  of  their 
times. 

He  says  if  Mother  had  lived  in  Martin  Luther's 
time  she  might  probably  have  prayed  for  him  in  her 
convent  as  a  prodigal  whilst  living  by  the  very  faith* 
he  spent  his  life  to  proclaim. 

But  if  Mother  had  lived  in  a  convent,  Hugh,"  I 
said,  "  she  would  never  have  been  married,  and  she 
would  have  been  a  Papist ;  which  would  have  beeii 
impossible." 

He  smiled,  and  said, — 

"  But,  Kitty,  Mr.  Wesley  thinks  some  of  the  holiest 
people  who  ever  lived  were  Roman  Catholics." 

"That  must  have  been  when  there  was  nothing 
Use  for  people  to  be,"  I  said. 

"  Nay,"  he  replied,  "  Mr.  Wesley  says  now,  *  I  dare 
not  exclude  from  the  Church  catholic  all  those 
congregations  in  which  unscriptural  doctrines,  which 
cannot  be  affirmed  to  be  the  pure  word  of  God  are 
sometimes,  nay  frequently,  preached  ;  neither  all 
those  congregations  in  which  the  sacraments  are  not 
duly  administered  (as  the  Church  of  Rome),  whoever 
they  are  that  have  one  spirit,  one  hope,  one  Lord, 
cue  faith,  one  God  and  Father  of  all.' " 

"  That  is  a  great  comfoii;,"  I  said.  "  But  I  think 
we  had  better  not  conjecture  what  Mother  would 
have  been  if  she  had  lived  in  Martin  Luther's  days. 
Nothing  bewilders  my  brain  like  thinking  what 
might  have  been  if  something  else  had  been.    Thank 


JinS.  KITTY  TnEVYLYAK.  215 

Ood,  Hugli,  she  did  not  live  in  those  old  dark  days, 
nor  any  of  us." 

"  I  am  very  thankful  you  did  not  at  any  rate, 
Kitty,"  he  said,  with  his  quiet  smile,  which  is  aa 
joyous  as  laughter,  "  at  least  unless  we  had  all  been 
transplanted  together." 

But  I  was  intending  to  write  about  Betty,  and  I 
liave  wandered  quite  away. 

One  evening  about  a  fortnight  since.  Father  was 
Bitting  after  supper  in  one  comer  of  the  hall,  smok- 
ing some  Virginian  tobacco  a  ship's  captain  had 
brought  him  lately  as  a  present,  with  the  book  on 
"  Fortifications  "  open  before  him,  and  Mother  and 
I  were  busy  cutting  out  garments  at  the  deal  table  at 
the  other  side  of  the  fire,  when  Betty,  after  removing 
the  supper,  announced  her  intention  of  joining  the 
Methodist  Society  which  met  in  the  village. 

Mother  said  gravely, — 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like,  Betty ;  indeed,  I  sup- 
pose you  will  do  as  you  like.  This  new  kind  of 
religion  seems  to  make  that  a  necessity  for  every 
one." 

Very  severe  words  for  Mother  ;  yet  Mother  being 
the  gentlest  of  beings,  is  nevertheless  in  her  gentle 
way  absolutely  impenetrable  when  once  her  mind  is 
made  up. 

"  Once  for  all,  however,  Betty,"  she  continued, 
laying  down  her  scissors,  and  speaking  in  the  low 
quiet  tone  neither  Jack  nor  I  ever  thought  of  resist- 
ing, *'  I  think  it  my  duty  faithfully  to  warn  you.  I 
do  not  understand  this  religion  of  violent  excitement 
and   determined   self-will.     The  religion  I  believe 


216  THE  DIARY  OF 

in  is  one  which  enables  us  to  control  our  feelings  and 
yield  up  our  self-will." 

"  Missis,"  said  Betty,  "  I  may  as  well  speak  my 
mind  out  at  ohce  too.  If  you  mean  that  I  couldn't 
keep  back  my  tears  at  the  Sacrament  yesterday,  no 
more  I  couldn't,  nor  I  scarce  can  now  when  I  think 
of  it.  For  the  blessed  Lord  himself  was  there^  and  I 
felt  as  sure  of  it  as  that  poor  woman  who  w^ashed 
His  feet  with  her  tears.  I  felt  it  was  the  Lord  him- 
self giving  himself  to  me,  and  showing  me  He  loved 
me,  and  had  died  for  me,  and  that  my  sins  were 
forgiven.  Didn't  old  Widow  Jennifer  rouse  up  all 
the  town  with  her  crying  and  sobbing  when  her  poor 
lost  boy  came  back,  that  was  thought  to  be  wrecked; 
and  didn't  he  sob  too,  bearded  man  as  he  was? 
And  is  it  any  wonder  I  should  cry  at  findiug  my 
God  ?  Sure  enough,  Missis,  I  was  shipwrecked  wors« 
than  Jennifer's  son,  and  sure  enough  my  God  is 
more  to  me  than  any  mother  and  son  to  each  other. 

0  Missis,  if  you  only  knew  how  lost  I  had  been,  you 
wouldn't  wonder.    You'd  wonder  I  kept  as  quiet  as 

1  did." 

Mother  was  silent  some  little  time.  Her  kind 
thoughtful  eyes  moistened  and  then  were  cast  down, 
and  she  only  said  very  gently, — 

"  I  know  such  assured  peace  and  such  joys  have 
been  given  to  some,  Betty,  but  they  were  great 
saints,  and  I  think  it  w^as  generally  just  before  their 
death." 

"  Well,  Missis,"  said  Betty  simply,  "  I  am  sure  I 
am  no  great  saint,  and  I  don't  know  that  I  am  like 
to  die,  but  I  know  that  none  but  the  Lord  could  give 
me  joy  like  that:   and  if  it's  for  me,  surely  it's  for 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  217 

a^l.  And  John  Nelson  says  our  parsons  say  so  every 
Sunday." 

"  The  parsons  say  every  Sunday,  every  one  may 
know  their  sins  are  forgiven  !"  exclaimed  Mother. 

''  Every  one  who  repents  and  believes,"  said  Betty. 
"  Mr.  John  Nelson  made  me  see  how  it  says  in  the 
Prayer-Book,  '  He  pardoneth  and  absolveth  all  those 
who  truly  repent  and  unfeignedly  believe  His  Holy 
Gospel.'  And  if  I  ever  felt  anything  truly  in  my 
life,  Missis,  I've  felt  sorry  for  my  sins,  and  hated 
them,  and  they  say  that  is  repentance.  And  if  I 
believe  anything  in  the  world,  it  is  that  the  blessed 
Lord  died  on  the  Cross  for  sinners,  and  John  Nelson 
says  that  is  the  Holy  Gospel.  So  that,  now,  when- 
ever our  parson  com<^s  to  that,  my  heart  leaps  for 
joy.  For  it  isn't  '  will  pardon,'  but  ^pardoneth '  and 
that  must  mean  forgiveness  now.  So  it's  all  the  same 
to  me  as  if  the  parson  said,  "  Betty  Boskelly,  God 
Almighty  has  commanded  me  to  tell  you  he  forgives 
you  your  sins  for  the  sake  of  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 
And  Missis,"  concluded  Betty,  "  I  don't  mind  how 
little  I  can  understand  the  sermon,  when  that's  so 
plain.  So  when  the  parson  gets  into  the  pulpit, 
I  listen  to  the  text,  (which  is  most  times  i)lain  too), 
and  then  I  think,  '  Now  he's  going  to  preach  to  the 
learned  folks,  like  himself,  but  I've  got  my  sermon 
already,  and  it's  enough  for  me  ;'  so  I  sit  and  think, 
quite  content." 

"  But,"  resumed  Mother  after  a  pause,  "  you  have 
heard  those  words  every  Sunday  of  your  life.  What 
makes  the  absolution  such  a  new  and  strange  thing 
to  you  ?" 

"  I  cannot  well  say,  Missis,"  said  Betty,  "  unless 
it  is  the  '  now  '  and  '  m^.'  I  always  listened  to  it 
19 


218  THE  DIARY  OF 

all,  as  if  the  parson  were  reading  good  words  made 
a  long  time  ago  about  good  things  a  long  way  off 
to  be  given  after  a  long  while  to  I  didn't  exactly 
know  who.  But  when  I  came  to  see  that  it  is 
God  now  forgiving  mc^  that  makes  all  the  difier- 
ence." 

"  Now,  if  the  Prayer-Book  makes  you  so  content, 
Betty,"  said  Mother,  shifting  her  attack,  "  what  do 
you  want  wdth  those  new-fangled  meetings  ?" 

"  It's  the  meetings  that  make  me  understand  the 
prayers.  Missis,"  said  Betty,  persisting. 

"  I  hope  you  do  understand  them,  Betty,  and  are 
not  deluding  yourself,"  said  Mother,  and  having  thus 
reserved  her  rights  to  the  last  word,  she  abandoned 
the  contest,  and  Betty  retired. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  as  we  were  all 
gathered  round  the  fire.  Father  said, — 

"My  dear,  I  advise  you  to  have  no  more  theo- 
logical discussions  with  Betty.  She  turned  your 
position  neatly  with  her  quotations  from  the  Prayer- 
Book." 

Mother  colored  a  little. 

"  You  know,  my  dear,  we  pray  every  Sunday 
against  schism  as  well  as  against  heresy,  and  I  am 
very  much  afraid  of  people  deluding  themselves 
into  a  kind  of  religious  insanity  with  this  new  reli- 
gion." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Father,  "  I  have  seen  a  good 
many  religions,  and  not  too  much  religion  in  the 
world  with  all  of  them  together.  I  am  not  much 
afraid  of  a  schism  which  sends  people  to  church,  nor 
of  an  insanity  which  makes  them  good  servants. 
These  are  strange  times.  The  Squire  told  me  to-day 
they  have  sent  poor  John  Greenfield  to  prison,  ami 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAIT,  21 « 

when  I  asked  him  why  (for  though  the  poor  fellow 
was  a  sad  drunkard  and  ill-liver  in  years  past,  since 
he  has  taken  up  with  the  Methodists  he  has  been  as 
steady  as  Old  Time),  he  said,  '  why  the  man  is  well 
enough  in  other  things  ;  but  his  impudence  is  not  to 
be  borne.  Why,  sir,  he  says  he  knows  his  sins  are 
forgiven.'*  But,"  concluded  Father,  gravely,  "  there 
are  some  old  soldiers  who  n  ight  think  poor  John 
Greenfield's  penalty  worth  bearing,  if  they  could 
share  his  crime." 

Mother  is  always  easily  melted  out  of  the  rigidity 
of  controversy  by  any  symptom  of  yielding  on  the 
other  side.  It  is  so  foreign  to  her  nature  that  (as  I 
have  noticed  with  other  gentle  people),  the  very 
effort  required  to  enter  on  it  makes  her  for  the  time 
more  stiff  and  unyielding  w^hen  she  begins ;  just  as 
I  have  noticed  that  a  captain  of  militia  will  wear 
his  untried  sw^ord  with  twice  as  fierce  and  military 
an  air  as  Father,  who  fought  through  the  great 
Duke's  campaigns.  But  now,  seeing  Father's  pen- 
sive face,  she  gladly  doffed  her  armor  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm  and  said, — 

"  My  love,  the  Bible  says,  '  there  is  forgiveness 
ynth.  God  for  all.' "  And  lowering  her  voice  she 
added,  "  When  I  look  at  the  Cross  of  our  Saviour, 
and  see  Him  suffer  and  hear  Him  plead,  it  scem.s  im- 
possible that  God  cannot  forgive,  and  then  again 
when  I  look  at  my  sins,  I  think  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible He  can.  And  so,  my  love,"  she  said,  "  I  find 
no  comfort  but  in  looking  at  the  Cross  of  my  Lord 
again.     And  perhaps  it  may  be  the  same  for  you." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  and  said  with  a  grave 
smile,  looking  into  her  dear,  pure,  tender  fane. 

*  Yidc  Wesloy's  JouinaL 


220  TUE  DIARY  OF 

"  Tliy  sins,  Polly,  must  be  a  great  weight  indeed  1 
Faith,  I  would  like  to  hear  thy  confessions.  *  To-day 
I  was  too  worldly  and  too  glad  to  see  Kitty  so 
happy.  Yesterday  I  was  too  sorry  to  see  my  hus- 
band in  a  passion.  Every  day  I  love  every  one  more 
than  I  ought,  and  do  ten  times  more  for  them  than 
they  deserve.'     Are  these  thy  confessions  ?" 

She  looked  a  little  grieved  at  his  turning  the  con- 
versation lightly,  and  soon  after  she  went  to  rest. 
But  this  morning  she  told  me  I  must  not  think 
anything  of  it ;  it  was  only  a  way,  she  said,  dear 
Father  had  caught  in  the  army,  and  she  had  no 
doubt  he  thought  far  more  religiously  than  he  talked. 
Nor  must  I  think  anything  of  what  he  said  about 
the  sins  of  his  former  life  ;  a  truer  and  gentler  heart, 
she  said,  never  beat.  The  bravest  were  always  the 
kindest.  "  And  then,  Kitty,"  she  concluded,  "  What 
are  the  perils  and  temptations  of  women  to  those 
of  men  ?  Perhaps  more  women  than  men  may  creep 
quietly  and  safely  into  heaven  ;  but  eveiy  man  who 
gets  there  must  be  a  hero,  a  king  fit  to  reign  over  ten 
cities." 

But  when  Father  and  I  were  left  alone,  he  said, — 

"  Kitty,  it  is  a  strange  world.  Here  are  men  who 
set  the  whole  ten  commandments  at  defiance — im- 
prisoning a  good  man  for  confessing  his  sins  and  be- 
lieving they  are  forgiven.  This  morning,  when  I  was 
out  before  dawn  looking  for  a  stray  sheep,  I  heard  a 
sound  of  grave  sweet  singing ;  and  I  found  it  was  a 
company  of  poor  tinners,  waiting  around  John  Wes- 
ley's lodging  to  get  a  sermon  before  they  went  to 
their  work,  and  singing  hymns  till  he  came  out. 
And  here's  Betty,  with  a  temper  like  the  Furies, 
turned  saint ;  and  your  Mother,  with  a  life  like  an 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAir,  221 

angel's,  bemoaning  her  sins.  It's  a  very  strange 
world,  Kitty;  but  if  Jobn  Nelson  came  this  way 
again,  I  would  go  and  hear  Mm.  I'm  not  clear  the 
stout  Yorkshireman  mightn't  preach  as  good  a  ser- 
mon as  some  other  people  we  know.  And  there's  a 
good  deal  in  that  idea  of  Betty's,  about  the  *  tk/uP 
and  the  *  me.''  " 

"  Hugh  says  John  Nelson  is  a  wonderful  preacher, 
Father,"  I  said;  "and  some  people  think  Hugh's 
own  sermons  are  beautiful." 

"  So,  ho  !  Hugh  a  Methodist  too  !"  said  Father, 
patting  my  cheek.  "  But  who  said  that  Hugh's  ser- 
mons were  not  beautiful  ?" 

The  Hall  Farm  is  honored  at  present  by  a  most 
distinguished  guest. 

A  few  days  since,  Cousin  Evelyn  announced  that  it 
was  her  royal  pleasure  to  pay  us  a  visit. 

"  I  shall  come  without  a  maid,"  she  wrote  ;  "  for 
Stubbs  is  persuaded  that  the  Comish  people  are 
heathens,  who  never  offer  a  prayer  except  that  ships 
may  be  wrecked  on  their  coasts ;  that  they  tie  lan- 
terns to  mare's  tails,  to  bring  about  the  same  result, 
the  poor  sailors  mistaking  them  for  guiding  lights  ; 
that  when  ships  are  thus  wrecked,  they  murder  the 
crew,  and  probably  eat  them  afterwards,  but  of  this 
she  is  not  sure ;  of  the  perils  of  the  journey,  how- 
ever, she  is  sure.  And  ready  as  she  declares  herself 
to  be  for  any  sacrifice  on  my  account,  I  feel  it  would 
be  an  ungenerous  return  for  such  unlimited  devotion 
to  strain  it  so  far.  I  have  therefore  dispensed  with 
her  services,  promising  to  secure  her  a  slice  of  the 
pie  of  me,  as  a  relic,  in  case  of  the  worst.  And,  in- 
deed, mamma  says  it  cannot  matter  much  my  having 
19* 


3553  THE  DIARY  OF 

a  maid  to  decorate  me ;  for  she  calls  Cornwall  *  "West- 
em  Barbaiy,'  and  thinks  that  whatever  fashion  I  in- 
troduce may  pass  for  the  newest  Court  mode.  But, 
Cousin  Kjtty,  you  and  I  know  better.  Mamma 
knows  nothing  of  Mss  Pawsey ;  but  I  who  do,  "in- 
tend to  bring  my  most  elaborate  brocades,  and  my 
largest  hoops,  and  my  choicest  lace-lappets  for  the 
barber  at  Falmouth  to  arrange.  For  spectators,  what 
can  any  woman  desire  better  than  that  most  courtly 
old  courtier  my  uncle,  and  that  most  perfect  gentle- 
woman my  aunt  ?  to  say  nothing  of  my  sweet  demure 
cousin,  and  a  neighboring  gentleman  who  has  told 
me  far  more  about  her  than  she,  fickle  goddess,  ever 
deigned  to  tell  me  about  liim.  Happily  for  my 
heart.  Cousin  Jack  is  at  the  wars ;  but  then  there  are 
Betty  and  Trusty.  I  am  wild  with  pleasure.  Cousin 
Kitty,  at  the  thought  of  seeing  you  all.  And  I  ex- 
pect you  will  have  Mr.  John  Wesley  down  on  jDur 
pose  to  edify  me.    Your  most  loving  cousin, 

^'Evelyn  Beauchamp." 

Father  shook  his  head  and  said  there  was  too 
much  truth  in  what  the  maid  said  about  the  Coniisli 
wreckers,  to  make  it  a  matter  for  a  jest. 

Mother,  however  softened  by  the  compliment  to 
Father's  manners,  was  only  half  pleased  with  the 
letter,  and  not  at  all  i)leased  at  the  prosj)ect  of  the 
visit. 

"  Such  an  extraordinary  mixture,  Kitty  I"  she  said. 
"  Mr.  Wesley  and  the  Falmouth  barber,  Methodists 
and  hoop-petticoats  I  What  are  we  to  do  with  such 
a  fine  lady — a  young  woman,  too,  with  such  a  very 
dangerous  levity  as  regards  the  Church  ?  I  do  wish 
vou  had  not  drawn  her  such  a  picture  of  me,  my 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  228 

poor  fond  Kitty  I  Wliat  will  she  think  ?  How- 
ever, she  was  very  kind  to  you,  and  we  must  do  our 
best." 

Nor  was  Betty  more  pleased  than  Mother. 

*'  It  was  a  blessing  indeed,"  she  said,  "  she  was  not 
to  bring  her  maid,  for  she  had  heard  that  London 
maids  were  far  finer  ladies  than  their  mistresses.  Not 
that  she  w^as  afraid  of  any  fine  lady,  mistress  or 
maid;  for  who  was  better  blood  than  the  Trevyl- 
yans?  And  she  should  certainly  have  given  the 
maid  a  bit  of  her  mind,  which  might  have  done  her 
good." 

But  knowing  the  angular  character  of  these  "  bits 
of  Betty's  mind,"  I  cannot  but  be  glad  at  Stubbs' 
escape. 

And  now.  Cousin  Evelyn  has  been  here  only  a  week, 
and  has  conquered  every  heart  in  the  house,  from 
Betty's,  bristling  all  over  with  controversial  asser- 
tions of  the  glory  of  the  Trevylyans,  to  Mother's, 
trembling  all  over  with  the  sense  of  her  own  defi- 
ciencies, and  the  terror  of  Cousin  Evelyn's  grandeur, 
and  wit,  and  heterodoxy. 

The  afternoon  she  arrived,  in  spite  of  Betty's  re- 
monstrances, the  table  was  set  as  usual  in  the  hall, 
instead  of  in  the  parlor.  It  was  just  growing  dusk. 
The  blaze  of  the  great  fire  of  logs,  on  the  hearth, 
was  fast  overpowering  with  its  ruddy  glow  and 
quivering  shadows  the  pale,  fading  daylight.  Father 
kept  pacing  the  hall  and  gazing  out  of  the  window, 
declaring  Evelyn  ought  to  have  been  here  an  hour 
since.  Mother  hovered  about  the  supper  table,  ar- 
ranging the  plate?  with  a  nervous  precision,  when 
the  clatter  of  hoois  was  heard  in  the  court,  and  the 


B24  ins  DIARY  OF 

sound  of  a  ringing  voice,  and  in  another  moment  I 
was  leading  Cousin  Evelyn  in. 

She  looked  so  radiant,  it  seemed  to  me  she  brought 
the  day  back  again  into  the  house  as  she  entered  ic, 
her  face  glowing  with  air  and  exercise,  the  feather 
waving  in  her  hat,  her  rich  brown  hair  knotted  be- 
hind with  scarlet,  and  falling  in  curls  over  her  blue 
habit  faced  with  silver.  She  did  not  overpower 
Mother  with  any  great  vivacity,  or  with  any  violent 
demonstrations  of  affection.  The  ordinary  tones  of 
her  voice  were  deep  and  low,  with  a  kind  of  muffled 
power,  and  her  manner  was  composed  and  quiet. 
And  this  evening  there  was  a  reverent  tenderness  in 
her  tones  whenever  she  addressed  Father,  and  espe- 
cially Mother,  that  was  most  winning.  Because 
there  is  that  kind  of  power  about  Cousin  Evelyn 
that  makes  one  feel  her  afifection  something  giving^ 
not  asking — a  strong,  kind  arm  thrown  round  you 
to  cherish  you,  rather  than  a  feeble,  clinging  tendril, 
twining  round  you  to  support,  itself.  And  her  rever- 
ence or  admiration  always  seems  like  the  condescen- 
sion of  a  queen  stooping  to  kiss  your  hand. 

Trusty,  having  investigated  her  rights  with  that 
peculiar  sense  (whatever  it  is)  residing  in  his  nose, 
sanctioned  her  at  once  by  that  peculiar  power  of  lan- 
guage residing  in  his  tail. 

This  quiet  operation  was  his  ordinary  way  of  re- 
ceiving any  new-comer ;  but  Cousin  Evelyn's  case  he 
evidently  felt  to  be  exceptional.  Like  eveiy  one  else 
with  Evelyn,  but  quite  in  contradiction  of  his  own 
usual  sentiments.  Trusty  evidently  felt  her  approval 
was  even  more  necessary  than  his  in  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  kept  sitting  beside  her,  wistfully  gazing  in- 
to her  face,  until  she  honored  him  with  a  fi-iendly 


MBS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  225 

pat  from  lier  little  soft  hand,  saying,  "  So,  you  are 
Trusty  I"  when  he  was  satisfied,  and  retired  to  his 
place  before  the  fire. 

The  household  have  all  expressed  to  me  their  ap- 
preciation of  Cousin  Evelyn  in  their  various  ways. 

Mother  said  the  next  morning,  as  I  took  her  the 
new  milk, — 

"Kitty,  I  should  never  have  thought  Evelyn  so 
clever  as  you  say  she  is.  She  seems  to  me  a  dear 
good  child,  not  at  all  wild,  nor  in  the  least  conceited. 
I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  in  her  conversation  to  lead 
any  one  to  think  she  knows  any  language  but  her 
own,  nor  anything  in  her  behavior  to  indicate  the 
least  dangerous  tendency  towards  separatists  and  agi- 
tators ;  and  not  a  j)article  of  the  fine  lady  about  her ; 
rather  shy,  I  should  have  thought  her.  I  am  sure  we 
must  all  do  our  utmost  to  make  the  dear  child  feel  at 
home.  And  there  is  a  strange  wistful  look  in  her 
eyes,  Kitty,"  continued  Mother,  "that  goes  to  my 
heart — a  kind  of  orphaned  look.  Perhaps  her  home 
is  not  as  happy  as  ours,  with  all  its  splendor.  I  feel 
strangely  drawn  to  the  child.  I  have  a  kind  of 
motherly  feeling  for  her,  Kitty.  We  must  do  every- 
thing to  make  her  happy." 

As  if  it  was  anything  strange  for  Mother's  heart  to 
have  a  kind  of  motherly  feeling  to  any  creature  she 
had  to  do  with  ! 

But  it  is  strange  she  should  notice  that  wistful 
look  in  Cousin  Evelyn's  eyes,  for  I  never  said  much 
to  her  about  Aunt  Beauchamp.  I  thought  it  would 
be  a  breach  of  hospitality.  Mother  always  taught  us 
it  would  be  such  a  treachery  to  gossip  about  the 
Becrets  of  any  home  where  we  are  welcomed. 

Father  on  the  contrary  said, — 


»»0  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  That  child  is  monstrously  clever.  I  believe, 
Kitty,  with  a  very  little  teaching,  she  would  know 
as  much  of  the  science  of  war  as  I  do.  She  entered 
into  my  description  of  the  great  battle  of  Mai  pi  a- 
quet  as  intelligently  as  if  she  had  been  an  old  sol- 
dier." 

Betty  has  said  little.  She  is  not  the  person  to 
strike  her  colors  at  the  first  summons.  But  yester- 
day morning  when  I  came  back  from  the  milking  I 
found  Cousin  Evelyn  established  with  Betty  in  the 
dairy  on  terms  of  intimacy  it  took  Jack  and  me 
many  years  to  win,  actually  rolling  up  a  pat  of  but- 
ter with  her  dainty  little  hands,  her  round  white 
arms  bare  to  the  ruffles  at  her  elbows. 

And  afterwards  Betty  said  to  me, — 

**  I  am  not  going  to  say  Mrs.  EveljTi  is  what  she 
might  have  been  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
country  in  a  sensible  way ;  but  a  fine  lady  she  is  not. 
A  more  free  and  affable  young  lady  1  never  did  see. 
Her  fingers  are  not  all  thumbs,  she's  sense  enough  for 
anything  if  she'd  only  been  taught,  poor  young 
thing.  And,"  continued  Betty  candidly,  "  that's 
more  than  I  thought  when  I  saw  her  first,  with  her 
feathers  and  her  ribbons,  and  her  coat  like  a  gen- 
eral's, with  all  that  tinsel  stuff  about  it.  But  to 
hear  her  talk  about  Parson  Wesley  and  his  sermons, 
with  that  fly  away  lace  on  her  head,  and  her  long 
curls,  and  those  little  high-heeled  red  slippers,  and  a 
petticoat  like  a  hen  coop,  was  more  than  I  could  quite 
take  in." 

"  But,  Betty,"  said  I,  *'  these  things  are  no  more  to 
Cousin  Evelyn  than  my  woolsey  jjetticoat  and  laced 
bodl-je  to  me  ;  or  Mother's  cushion  and  cap  and  mus- 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  227 

lin  kerchief  pinned  over  lier  dress  to  her ;  or  your 
Sunday  cloak  and  hood  to  you." 

"  Maybe,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  "  but  I've  spoke 
my  mind  to  Mrs.  Evelyn,  and  she's  spoke  her  mind 
to  me.  And  I  hope  she'll  be  the  better  for  it,  for  1 
think  I  shall." 

By  this  I  knew  that  Betty  and  Cousin  Evelyn  had 
had  a  passage  at  arms,  the  usual  title  to  such  rights 
of  citizenship  as  Betty  can  confer. 

In  the  evening  we  had  a  long  talk,  Evelyn  and  I, 
in  my  chamber,  before  we  went  to  bed.  Mother  had 
furbished  up  an  old  state  bed  with  faded  tapestry 
hangings  representing  Herodias  with  John  Baptist's 
head  in  a  charger,  and  had  placed  it  in  one  of  the 
rooms  which  had  been  cleared  out  and  whitewashed 
for  us.  But  Cousin  Evelyn  entreated  not  to  be  put 
into  such  ghostly  company  again. 

The  first  night  she  slept  there  alone,  and  she  de- 
clared that  as  the  wood  fire  flickered  on  the  livid 
antique  forms,  they  glowed  and  stirred  in  the  strang- 
est way,  and  that  she  should  never  be  able  to  tell 
whether  an  unnatural  glare  that  came  over  the  coun- 
tenance of  Herodias,  just  as  she  was  going  to  sleep, 
was  merely  the  dying  flicker  of  the  embers,  or  that 
princes  herself  revivified  and  scowling  on  her  with 
murderous  eyes.  Accordingly  she  has  taken  refuge 
with  me. 

Our  conversation  began  about  Betty.  Evelyn 
said, — 

*'  I  like  you  all  very  much,  Kitty,  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  Betty  is  not  the  best  and  wisest  among  you, 
and  the  greatest  friend  to  me.  Aunt  Trevylyan 
spoils  me  by  her  tenderness,  and  Uncle  Trevylyan  by 


238  7772'  DIARY  OF 

his  courteous  deference,  and  you  by  your  humility. 
But  Betty  knows  better,  and  she  has  given  me  a  bit 
of  her  mind,  and  I  have  given  her  a  bit  of  mine. 
This  morning  I  asked  her  to  teach  me  to  make  but- 
ter, and  she  said,  *  Mrs.  Evelyn,  my  dear,  I'll  teach 
you  what  I  can,  although  I  half  think  you  are  after 
nothing  but  a  bit  of  play.  But  before  we  begin,  I 
must  tell  you  what's  been  on  my  mind  for  some  time. 
You  may  play,  my  dear,  with  Master  about  his  bat- 
tles, and  with  Missis  at  learning  to  sew,  and  with  me 
at  making  butter,  if  you  like,  but  I  can't  abide  play 
about  religion,  and  I  can't  think  it's  anything  else 
when  you  talk  about  Parson  Wesley  and  his  wondeiv 
ful  words,  with  those  lappets  and  feathers  flying 
about  your  face,  and  tripping  on  your  little  red  shoes. 
The  Bible's  plain ;  and  I  marked  a  text  which  you'll 
be  pleased  to  read.' 

"  She  gave  me  her  great  Bible,  and  I  read :  *  In 
that  day  the  Lord  will  take  away  the  bravery  of 
their  tinkling  ornaments,'  etc.  '  But,  Betty,'  I  said, 
*  I  don't  wear  any  tinkling  ornaments,  nor  nose  jew- 
els, nor  round  tires  like  the  moon,  nor  bells  in  my 
toes.' 

"  *  You  may  smile,  Mrs.  Evelyn,'  said  Betty  very 
gravely,  ^but  I  think  it's  no  laughing  matter.  If  that 
had  been  written  in  our  days,  my  dear,  your  lappets, 
and  furbelows,  and  hoop  petticoats  would  have  como 
in,  sure  enough.  And  it  was  written  for  you  and  me 
as  sure  as  if  it  had  been  written  yesterday ;  so  we've 
got  to  understand  it.  But  Parson  Wesley's  sermons 
are  no  child's  play,  my  dear,'  she  concluded ;  *  and 
if  you'd  felt  them  tearing  at  your  heart  as  I  have, 
you'd  know  it ;  and  till  ycu  do,  I'd  rather  not  talk 
about  them.  " 


MBS.  KITTY  TBEVTLYAN.  S39 

"  And  "what  did  you  say,  Cousin  Evelyn  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  was  angry,"  said  Evelyn,  for  I  thought  Betty 
harsh  and  uncharitable,  and  I  said, — 

*' '  I  Jiave  felt  Parson  Wesley's  words,  Betty,  and  I 
have  learned  from  him  that  pride  and  vanity  can  hide 
in  other  places  besides  lappets  and  furbelows.  It's  a 
great  warfare  we're  in,  and  the  enemy  has  wiles  as 
well  as  fiery  darts ;  and  it  is  not  always  so  sure  when 
we  have  driven  the  enemy  out  of  sight  that  we  have 
defeated  him.  We  may  have  driven  him  further  in  ; 
into  the  citadel  of  our  hearts,  Betty,'  I  said ;  '  and 
one  foe  in  the  citadel  is  worse  than  an  enemy  in  the 
field.' " 

"  And  what  did  Betty  answer  ?"  I  asked. 

"  She  answered  nothing,"  said  Evelyn.     "  She  said, 

*  "Young  folks  were  very  wise  in  these  days,'  and  then 
she  began  to  give  me  my  lesson  in  making  butter. 
But  as  I  was  leaving  the  dairy  afterwards,  she  said, 

*  Mrs.  Evelyn,  my  dear,  I  am  not  goiag  to  say  I've  no 
pride  or  conceit  of  my  own.  Maybe  we'd  better 
each  look  to  ourselves.'  I  gave  her  hand  a  hearty 
shake,  and  I  know  we  shall  be  good  friends." 

{Marginal  Note. — I  noticed  after  this  that  through- 
out her  visit  Cousin  Evelyn  wore  the  soberest  and 
plainest  dresses  she  had.) 

Then  after  a  pause  Cousin  Evelyn  continued,  in  a 
soft  and  deep  tone, — 

"  Cousin  Kitty,  I  no  longer  wonder  at  your  bein^ 
the  dear  little  creature  you  are.  I  do  not  see  how 
you  could  help  growing  up  ■>  ircod  and  sweet  here, 
in  such  a  home.  I  love  you  all  so  much  1  Aunt 
Trevylyan  has  just  such  a  sweet,  choice  aromatic 

*  odor  of  sanctity '  about  her  as  old  George  Herbert 
would  have  delighted  to  enshrin<?  in  one  of  his  quaint 

20  . 


280  THE  DIARY  OF 

vases  of  perfume — those  dear  old  hymns  of  his ;  a 
kind  of  fragrance  of  fresh  rose  leaves  and  Oriental 
spices,  all  blended  into  a  sacred  incense.  And  dear 
Uncle  Trevylyan  and  I,  Kitty,  have  talks  I  am  afraid 
your  Mother  would  think  rather  dangerous,  during 
those  long  walks  of  ours  over  the  cliffs  and  through 
the  fields.  He  likes  to  hear  about  John  Nelson  and 
the  Wesleys,  and  their  strong  homely  sayings,  and 
their  brave  daring  of  mobs,  and  their  patient  endur- 
ance of  toil  and  weariness.  He  said  one  day  he  had 
been  used  to  think  of  religion  as  a  fair  robe  to  make 
women  such  as  your  Mother  (how  he  loves  her,  Kitty !) 
even  lovelier  than  they  were  by  nature,  to  be  rever- 
ently put  on  on  Sundays  and  holy  days,  and,  it  was 
to  be  hoped,  hereafter  in  heaven.  But  of  a  religion 
for  every  day  and  all  day,  liere  and  nrnfi^  to  be  worn  by 
all  and  woven  into  the  coarse  stuff  of  every-day  life — 
a  religion  to  be  girt  about  a  man  on  the  battle-field, 
and  at  the  mine,  and  in  the  fishing-boat,  he  had 
scarcely  thought  till  he  met  John  Nelson." 

It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  take  Cousin  Evelyn  to  all 
our  old  familiar  haunts.  She  is  more  delighted  with 
our  wild  seas  and  rocky  shores  than  even  I  had  ex- 
pected. She  makes  me  see  beautiful  pictures  in 
things  to  which  I  had  grown  so  accustomed  as 
scarcely  to  observe  them.  The  view  from  the  shady 
recesses  of  our  "Robinson  Crusoe's  Cave"  across  the 
white  sands  and  the  line  of  breakers  to  the  broad  sea 
twinkling  in  countless  waves  on  and  on  to  the  hori- 
zon, where  it  shone  a  line  of  emerald  light  touching 
the  opal  sky,  enchanted  her.  She  said  she  had  no 
idea  what  a  wealth  of  radiance  floods  our  every-day 


MBS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN,  231 

footsteps  in  the  open  world,  until  sbo  looked  out  on 
it  from  tliat  cavern. 

"  Think,  Cousin  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  we  are  walking 
every  hour  of  the  day  in  that  fairy  world  of  glory  and 
beauty  without  knowing  it ;  and  people  call  it  ^  this 
every-day  life,'  and  *  this  work-a-day  world.'  Can  we 
not  understand  a  little,"  she  added,  "  how  it  is  that 
God  finds  it  for  our  profit  to  lead  us  sometimes  into 
the  shadows  V 

Often  she  longs  for  some  of  the  great  old  painters 
to  be  here  and  transfer  some  of  these  scenes  to  canvas ; 
— ^the  sea  with  its  amethyst  and  emerald  tints,  the 
strange  peaks,  and  pinnacles,  and  arched  bridges  in 
the  dark  rocks  against  which  the  snow-white  waves 
leap  ;  the  little  openings  in  our  green  wooded  valley, 
through  which  we  catch  sunny  glimpses  of  the  sea. 
She  and  Father  delight  to  compare  these  things  with 
the  landscapes  of  the  great  masters  which  he  has  seen 
in  Flanders,  and  she  in  various  great  houses  in  Eng- 
land. 

Yet,  in  some  way,  there  is  a  difierence  between 
Evelyn's  enjoyment  of  these  things  and  mine.  When 
she  would  pause  in  delight  and  amazement  and  ex- 
claim, "  What  a  picture  !  what  a  flood  of  golden  light 
for  Cuyp  !  what  a  contrast  that  sky  and  those  rocks 
would  make  for  Claude  I" — at  first  I  used  to  wonder 
at  my  own  dullness  in  taking  it  all  so  quietly ;  until 
one  day  when  I  said  so  to  Hugh,  he  replied, — 

*'  It  is  not  dullness,  Kitty,  that  makes  you  never 
think  of  exclaiming,  every  now  and  then,  as  you  look 
at  your  Mother,  '  What  a  picture  that  face  is !'  And 
yet  I  am  sure  Raphael  never  painted  a  countenance 
of  more  sacred  purity  and  tenderness  than  lier's.  It 
is  your  Mother's  face ;  you  do  not  wonder  at  it ;  you 


»o3  THE  DIARY  OF 

know  it  too  well.  Its  sweet  beauty  has  been  shining 
on  your  heart  since  you  were  a  baby,  and  has  grown 
part  of  you.  It  is  so  with  nature.  Your  Cousin 
Evelyn  has  been  used  to  see  the  world  from  the  win- 
dows of  magnificent  mansions,  and  she  has  taste  to 
see  it  is  grander  than  any  picture-gallery  they  con- 
tain. But  still  it  is  a  picture-gallery — a  collection 
of  master-pieces  to  her.  I  think  you  have  been  better 
off.  You  have  not  gone  to  see  the  beauties  of  nature 
as  an  exhibition ;  you  have  grown  up  among  them, 
and  done  your  every  day  work  among  them ;  they 
have  been  the  flowers  by  your  daily  path,  the  familiar 
walls  and  roof  of  your  home.  You  have  lived,  as  it 
were,  at  home  with  nature,  close  to  her  heai*t.  Her 
glorious  face  has  been  beaming  on  you  like  your 
Mother's  from  your  infancy.  She  is  no  mere  picture 
to  you,  she  is  your  friend.  You  do  not  gaze  and  ex- 
claim, *How  beautiful  I'  You  love  and  enjoy.  Her 
beauty  has  entered  into  your  very  heart.  It  does  us 
good  to  admire  what  is  good  and  beautiful.  But  it 
does  us  infinitely  more  good  to  love  it.  We  grow 
like  what  we  admire.  But  we  become  one  with  what 
we  love." 

I  suppose  there  may  be  some  truth  in  what  Hugh 
says,  although  it  is  certainly  colored  by  his  affec- 
tion. 

But  I  do  feel  thankful  it  has  been  my  lot  to  live  in 
our  humble,  quiet  way,  seeing  the  sunrise  as  I  go  to 
milk  Daisy,  not  as  a  great  sight  to  rise  for  once  in  a 
life  time;  and  the  sunset  as  I  come  back  from  all 
kinds  of  homely  errands ;  hearing  the  birds,  not  as  a 
concert  now  and  then,  but  singing  close  to  my 
chamber-window  morning  and  evening;  the  same 
rooks  cawing  in  the  same  dear  old  elms ;  the  same 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  233 

thrushes  building  year  after  year  in  the  same  nest  in 
the  old  thorn. 

Evelyn  told  me  to-day  she  had  had  a  conversation 
with  Betty  on  ecclesiastical  history,  in  reference  to 
the  great  multitude  of  Cornish  saints — St.  Just,  St. 
Keot,  St.  Perran,  St.  Ives.  Betty,  it  seems,  has  a 
theory  that  they  were  the  John  Wesleys  and  the  John 
Nelsons  of  those  days,  sent  by  the  Almighty  to  wake 
the  folks  up ;  and  she  wonders  if  the  Methodists  will 
ever  fall  asleep  again,  as  the  converts  of  the  old  saints 
must  have  done,  so  that  it  will  be  needful  for  fresh 
saints  to  be  sent  again  to  awaken  them. 

Most  of  all,  however,  I  admire  Cousin  Evelyn  when 
she  is  talking  to  Hugh.  She  enters  into  his  high 
purposes,  and  wide  hopes  for  the  world,  with  such 
enthusiasm.  I  used  to  feel  like  a  dwarf  beside  her. 
But  now  I  only  feel  like  a  creature  of  a  similar  kind, 
not  dwarfed,  I  trust,  thank  God,  but  naturally  of  a 
less  size  and  meant  to  occupy  a  smaller  space  than 
Cousin  Evelyn,  but  with  that  little  space  and  that 
humble  growth  so  content,  so  fully  content  I 

My  only  fear  is  sometimes  lest  I  should  make 
Hugh's  world  narrow  and  his  purpose  dwindle  to 
my  degree.  When  he  and  Evelyn  converse,  they 
seem  to  ennoble  each  other,  and  I  have  no  power  to 
originate  anything.  I  can  only  sympathize  with 
their  purposes,  and  work  out  their  thoughts  in  some 
little  homely  way.  I  am  afraid  Evelyn  would  have 
helped  Hugh  much  better.  But  I  cannot  help  that. 
I  could  not  choose  for  him.  And  he  chose  me — not 
some  ideal  woman  who  might  be  ten  times  bet- 
t<jr  for  him — ^but  me  myself,  little  Kitty  Trevylyau, 
20* 


234  777^  DIARY  OF 

just  as  I  am.  And  as  it  was  no  choice  of  mine,  but 
bis,  and  there  is  no  doubt  about  its  being  right,  it  is 
such  a  sure,  deep,  unutterable  joy.  I  must  just  accept 
it  all,  and  be  happy,  and  love  God  and  every  one  ten 
times  as  much  as  ever. 

We  have  had  a  charming  little  excursion  round 
part  of  the  coast.  Father,  and  Evelyn,  and  I,  and  on 
our  way  home  we  were  present  at  one  of  Mr.  Wesley's 
great  field  preachings  at  Gwennap  Pit;  and  as  it 
came  in  our  way,  so  that  Mother  could  not  be 
grieved,  I  am  so  glad  we  were  there.  Because  I 
would  not  go  for  the  world  anywhere  to  grieve 
Mother,  for  a  religious  pleasure,  more  than  for  any 
other  pleasure.  And  although  Mr.  Wesley's  field- 
preachings  are  infinitely  more  than  a  religious  pleas- 
ure to  Betty  and  thousands  of  others,  I  do  not  see 
that  they  would  be  so  to  Cousin  Evelyn  and  me. 

We  started  on  two  horses,  I  on  a  pillion  behind 
Father;  Evelyn  dressed  in  as  sober  attire  as  she 
could  find  in  her  wardrobe,  not  to  attract  too  much 
attention.  This,  as  it  happened,  was  a  great  comfort 
(for  I  must  confess  Cousin  Evelyn's  first  appearance 
at  our  church,  in  her  large  straw  hat  trimmed  with 
flowers,  her  rich  violet  silk  di'ess,  festooned  over  her 
green  brocade  petticoat,  her  Paduasoy  mantle,  scarlet 
stockings,  and  leopard  skin  mufi",  did  considerably 
distract  the 'congregation);  and  I  should  not  at  all 
have  enjoyed  her  appearing  in  any  such  dainty 
attire  under  Mr.  Wesley's  penetrating  eyes  at  Gwen- 
nap. 

How  little  the  ancient  miners  thought,  as  they  cut 
deep  and  wide  into  the  lonely  hill-side  of  Cam  Math, 
1<<)W  they  were  excavating  a  church  for  tens  of  thou- 
St  ids.    When  we  arrived  at  the  place  thousands  of 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAN.  285 

people  were  there  already,  standing  about  in  groups 
conversing  eagerly,  or  sitting  on  the  rocks  and  turf 
in  silence,  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  preacher.  Still 
more  and  more  continued  to  stream  in — whole  fami- 
lies from  lonely  cottages  on  the  moors,  the  mother 
carrying  the  baby,  and  the  father  leading  the  little 
ones,  leaving  the  home  empty ;  companies  of  miners, 
■u4th  grim  faces  and  clothes  from  the  mines ;  fisher- 
men, with  rough  weather-beaten  faces  from  the  shores. 
Few  of  the  countenances  were  dull ;  many  of  them 
were  wild,  with  dark,  dishevelled  hair,  eager  dark 
eyes,  and  rugged,  expressive  features.  Evelyn  whis- 
pered,— 

"  If  I  were  Mr.  Wesley,  I  would  infinitely  rather 
preach  to  this  wild-looking  congregation  than  to  a 
collection  of  the  stony,  stolid  faces  of  the  midland 
counties,  or  to  a  smooth-faced  London  audience. 
There  is  some  fire  to  be  struck  out  of  these  eyes. 
How  historical  the  rugged  faces  are.  Cousin  E[itty ! 
Dark  stories,  I  think,  written  on  some  of  them  ;  but 
some  story  written  on  all.  T  should  have  thought 
John  Nelson  would  have  done  better  than  Mr.  John 
Wesley  here." 

He  appeared  in  his  blameless  clerical  black,  with 
the  large  silver  buckles  on  his  shoes — the  little  com- 
pact man  with  the  placid  benevolent  face.  As  he 
stood,  the  object  of  the  eager  gaze  of  those  untaught 
thousands,  so  self-possessed,  and  clerical,  and  calm,  I 
almost  agreed  with  Evelyn,  and  longed  for  the  sturdy 
Yorkshireman,  with  his  stalwart  frame,  his  ready  wit, 
his  plain,  pointed  sense,  his  rugged  eloquence. 

But  when  he  began  to  speak,  that  wish  immediately 
ceased ;  the  calm,  gentlemanly  voice,  the  self-possessed 
demeanor,  made  every  word  come  with  the  force  of  a 


286  TUE  DIARY  OF 

word  of  command.  In  a  few  moments  every  stir  was 
hushed  throughout  that  great  assembly. 

Before  the  prayer  and  preaching  began  I  had  been 
thinking  how  small  a  space  even  these  thousands  of 
human  beings  occupied  in  the  great  sweep  of  hilly 
moorland.  But  when  the  sermon  began,  and  I  looked 
round  on  the  amphitheatre  of  earnest  intent  faces, 
not  the  great  hills  only  but  the  sky  and  earth  seemed 
to  grow  insignificant  in  comparison  with  any  one  of 
the  listening,  deathless  spirits  gathered  there. 

Before  Mr.  Wesley  had  uttered  many  sentences  I 
ceased  to  look  at  the  audience.  My  eyes  also  were 
riveted  on  his  benevolent  face. 

And  before  I  had  thus  looked  and  listened  long  I 
forgot  Mr.  Wesley  himself  altogether  in  the  over- 
whelming love  and  grace  of  the  pardon  he  pro- 
claimed. 

It  was  the  old  inexhaustible  good  news,  that  all 
men  being  lost  and  wandering  sheep  (and  probably 
not  one  present  needed  to  have  this  proved  to  thenj), 
the  Good  Shepherd  had  come  to  seek  and  to  save 
that  which  was  lost ;  that  all  men  being  under  sen- 
tence of  death.  He  that  might  have  claimed  the  for- 
feit hath  paid  the  ransom  ;  that  the  way  to  eternal 
joy,  once  closed  by  sin  and  the  flaming  sword  of  jus- 
tice was  now  and  forever  open  to  all,  the  sword 
having  been  buried  in  the  heart  of  Him  who  will- 
ingly offered  up  himself  for  us,  the  flames  quenched 
in  His  precious  blood.  The  way  was  open  to  all ; 
and  most  earnestly  Mr.  Wesley  invited  all  to  return 
back  to  God  by  this  "  new  and  living  way  "  then  and 
there. 

Soon  the  sound  of  subdued  weeping  directed  my 
attention  once  more  to  the  multitude  around  me. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  237 

The  most  part  were  "  listening  with  a  close,  silent 
attention,  with  gravity  and  quietness,  discovered  by 
fixed  looks,  weepiag  eyes,  or  sorrowful  or  joyful 
countenances  ;"*  others  began  to  lift  up  their  voices 
aloud,  some  softly,  some  in  piercing  cries;  at  one 
time  the  whole  multitude  seemed  to  break  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  when  the  preacher's  voice  could  scarce 
be  heard  for  the  weeping  around  him.  Many  hid 
their  faces  and  sobbed,  others  lifted  up  their  voices 
in  an  ecstacy  and  praised  God.  At  moments  a  deep 
spontaneous  amen  arose  from  all  those  thousands  as 
from  one  voice.  One  or  two,  not  women  only,  but 
strong  men,  sank  down  as  if  smitten  to  the  earth  by 
lightning;  and  these  were  borne  away,  sometimes 
insensible,  sometimes  convulsed  as  if  with  inward 
agony. 

There  was  a  hymn  after  the  sermon.  I  shall  never 
forget  its  power.  It  seemed  as  if  the  sluice  gate 
had  suddenly  been  opened,  and  the  whole  pent-up 
emotion  throughout  that  great  silent,  listening  as- 
sembly burst  forth  at  once  in  a  flood  of  fervent 
singing. 

"  Yield  to  me  now,  for  I  am  weak, 

But  confident  in  self-despair, 
Speak  to  my  heart,  in  blessings  speak. 

Be  conquered  by  my  instant  prayer, 
Speak,  or  thou  never  hence  slialt  move. 

And  tell  me  if  thy  name  is  love. 

"  'T  is  love  I  't  is  love  I  thou  dledst  for  me, 

I  hear  thy  whisper  in  my  heart ; 
The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee, 

Pure  universal  love  thou  art ; 
To  me,  to  all,  thy  bowels  move, 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  love." 

♦  Vide  Letter  by  Kalph  Erskine  in  Wesley's  Journal. 


S'^8  THE  DIARY  OF 

To  hear  that  hymn  so  sung  by  thousands  who  bat 
for  Mr.  Wesley  might  never  have  known  a  joy  higher 
than  those  of  brutes  that  perish,  was  a  joy  such  as  I 
would  have  walked,  barefoot,  a  hundred  miles  to 
share.  And  then  afterwards  to  see  those  whose  feel- 
ings overcame  their  natural  reserve,  going  up  to 
Parson  Wesley  for  one  shake  of  his  hand,  one  word 
of  encouragement  or  welcome,  to  which  they  could 
only  respond  by  a  sobbing,  "  The  Lord  bless  you," 
or  tears  without  any  words  at  all ;  and  others  linger- 
ing to  pour  out  the  grief  of  consciences  awakened 
to  see  their  sins,  but  not  yet  seeing  the  remedy; 
and  to  observe  Mr.  Wesley's  kindly,  patient,  dis- 
criminating words  for  each  !  As  Father  said,  when 
in  the  gathering  dusk  we  were  riding  away  among 
the  slowly  dispersing  multitudes  (who  seemed  scarely 
able  to  tear  themselves  away), — 

"  Men  who  do  not  know  him  may  talk  lightly  of 
those  multitudes,  as  a  bragging  boy  at  home  may 
talk  lightly  of  a  battle.  But,  right  or  wrong,  it  is 
no  light  matter.  There  is  power  in  these  words,  as 
there  is  in  a  battery,  or  a  thunder-storm  ;  and  Kitty," 
he  continued  softly  to  me,  as  I  sat  on  my  pillion 
behind  him,  "  I  believe,  in  my  soul,  it  is  power  from 
heaven.  So  help  me  God,  I  will  never  say  a  word 
against  those  men  again." 

The  next  evening  when  we  sat  around  the  fire, 
Mother  said  gently  in  answer  to  our  description  of 
the  scene, — 

"  I  am  only  afraid  that  all  this  excitement  will  pass 
away,  and  leave  the  poor  people  colder  and  harder 
than  it  found  them." 

Father  replied, — 


MRS.  KITTY  trevylyan;  289 

"  Mother,  you  are  as  good  a  woman  as  there  is  in 
the  world,  and  a  very  gentle  touch  would  set  you  in 
the  way  to  heaven  ;  but  I  tell  you  some  people  want 
a  wrench,  enough  to  part  soul  from  body,  to  drag 
them  out  of  the  way  to  hell.  A¥hy,  but  for  such 
preaching  as  this  nine-tenths  of  those  people  would 
never  have  prayed  except  for  a  '  godsend '  in  the 
shape  of  a  wreck,  and  would  scarcely  have  thought 
of  a  church  except  as  a  place  to  be  married  in  or 
buried  near." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  replied  Mother,  "  we  shall  see. 
*  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.' " 

*'  My  dear,"  exclaimed  Father,  becoming  rather 
irritated,  "  I  liaxe  seen.  I  do  call  it  good  fruit  for 
ten  thousand  people  to  be  weeping  for  their  sins,  as 
people  commonly  weep  for  their  sorrows,  and  to  feel 
if  it  were  only  for  that  one  hour  that  sin  is  the  worst 
sorrow,  and  the  pardon  of  God  and  his  love  the 
greatest  joy." 

"  And  if  only  ten  of  the  ten  thousand  believe  that 
truth  and  live  by  it  for  ever.  Aunt  Trevylyan,"  said 
Evelyn,  "  is  not  that  fruit  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mother  gently,  but  not  very  hopefully. 
"  I  am  very  old-fashioned.  But  I  confess  I  am  afraid 
of  conventicles." 

But  afterwards  when  she  was  expressing  the  same 
dread  of  religious  excitement,  and  these  good  feel- 
ings passing  away,  to  Betty  ;  Betty  replied, — 

"  Bless  you,  Missis,  of  course  it  '11  pass  away, 
ninety-nine  hundredths  of  it.  And  so  does  the  rain 
from  heaven,  goes  back  to  the  sea  and  down  into  the 
rocks,  and  no  one  knows  where.  But  the  few  drops 
that  doTi't  pass  away  make  the  fields  green,  and  bring 
the  harvest." 


240  THE  DIART  OF 

Eveiy  other  Sunday  evening  through  the  winter  a 
few  of  our  poor  neighbors  have  long  been  used  to 
gather  round  the  fire  in  the  hall,  while  Mother  reads 
parts  of  the  evening  service,  especially  the  psalms 
and  lessons,  with  such  bits  as  she  thinks  they  can 
understand  out  of  the  homilies  or  some  of  our  few 
Sunday  books.  We  are  too  far  from  the  church  to 
attend  it  always  twice,  and  too  far  for  the  aged  and 
sickly  of  our  neighbors  to  attend  it  at  all ;  besides, 
the  fact  of  the  walk  to  church  being  one  of  the 
stormiest  we  have.  Father  says  he  thinks  the  legends 
are  right  enough  in  attributing  to  the  Devil  the 
choice  of  the  sites  of  many  of  our  Cornish  churches, 
for  they  seem  placed  exactly  where  it  is  hardest  to 
get  at  them. 

Last  Sunday  was  the  first  day  this  winter  our  little 
congregation  had  assembled.  Father  had  generally 
found  it  necessary  at  such  times  to  be  busy  about  the 
farm,  but  this  evening  he  kept  hovering  in  an  un- 
settled way  about  the  room,  while  Mother,  also  in  an 
unsettled  and  nervous  state,  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  the  Prayer-Book.  At  last  she  called  him  to  her, 
they  spoke  for  a  moment  or  two  softly  together,  and 
when  the  poor  old  men  and  women  came  straggling 
in  I  saw  a  look  of  surprise  on  many  faces  as  they 
whispered  to  each  other, — 

"  The  Captain's  going  to  be  parson  to-night  I" 

There  was  a  little  tremor  in  his  clear,  deep,  manly 
voice  as  he  began, — 

"  Dearly  beloved  brethren ;"  but  when  he  knelt 
down  with  us  and  said, — 

"  Almighty  and  most  merciful  Father,  we  have 
erred  and  strayed  from  Thy  ways  like  lost  sheep," 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-.  241 

the  tremulousness  had  passed,  and  deep   and  firnD 
came  out  the  words  of  confession  and  prayer. 

When  the  evening  hymn  was  sung  (and  1  never 
enjoy  the  evening  hymn  as  on  those  Sundays  when 
those  poor  old  quavering  voices  join  us  in  it),  and 
the  neighbors  had  gone,  no  one  made  any  remark  on 
the  change.  Mother  sat  veiy  quiet  all  the  evening. 
But  now  and  then  her  eyes  were  glistening,  and 
when,  as  she  went  to  bed.  Cousin  Evelyn  said,  mis- 
chievously,— 

"  Dear  Aunt  Trevylyan,  I  like  your  little  conven- 
ticle very  much." 

Mother  did  not  defend  herself ;  she  only  said, — 

"  I  am  not  too  old  to  learn,  Evelyn,  and,  certainly, 
not  too  old  to  have  much  to  learn.  But  God  forbid 
I  should  be  setting  my  feeble  hand  against  any  good 
work  of  His." 

And  from  Mother  such  words  as  these  mean  much. 

Much  as  Cousin  Evelyn  admires  our  wild  coast 
Bcenery,  her  favorite  excursions  are  to  the  cottages  of 
the  fishermen  and  miners  in  the  hamlets  around  us. 

To-day  we  went  to  see  old  Widow  Treflfry,  Toby's 
mother.  Her  cottage  lies  alone  near  the  entrance  of 
a  little  sheltered  cove  guarded  by  very  high  cliffs, 
the  points  of  which  the  sea  has  worn  into  fantastic 
pinnacles,  divided  by  whirlpools  of  seething  waters 
from  the  shores.  In  the  calmest  weather  the  steady 
pressure  of  the  tide  through  those  narrow  twisted 
channels,  makes  them  a  perpetual  battle-field ;  the 
contending  waves,  writhing  in  a  deadly  embrace 
dashing  each  other  high  into  the  air  in  jets  and 
flashes  of  foam,  or  charging  the  black  rocks  with 
21 


243  THE  DIARY  OF 

their  thundering  cannonade,  to  recoil  from  their 
jagged  edges  in  cascades  into  the  black  cauldron 
below,  and  be  sucked  back  in  a  gurgling  death- 
struggle  by  the  retreating  wave.  But  in  stomas, 
when  winds  enter  into  the  strife,  the  conflict  is  fear- 
ful indeed,  as  many  a  brave  ship  has  proved,  her 
strong  timbers  shivered  into  a  thousand  fragments 
in  the  mere  by-play  cf  the  fierce  strife  of  the  ele- 
ments with  each  other. 

Strange  relics  are  washed  up  on  the  white  sands 
at  the  head  of  the  little  ( reek  near  Widow  Treffi'y's 
cottage,  and  no  one  wonders  much  to  see  a  quaint 
patchwork  of  the  produce  and  manufactures  of 
various  nations,  in  the  rude  little  dwelling.  Rare 
Indian  woods,  and  mahogany  from  Honduras,  which 
would  be  the  pride  of  Aunt  Beauchamp's  saloons, 
are  ruingled  with  the  old  deal  tables  and  chaii*s. 

During  the  last  year  or  two  the  old  woman  has 
recovered  her  strength  sufficiently  to  creep  once  more 
about  her  cottage.  This  morning  we  found  her  in  a 
very  rare  attitude  for  her,  thrifty,  stirring  old  crea- 
ture that  she  is.  She  was  crouching  close  to  the  fire 
with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  while  from  the  cham- 
ber within  came  every  now  and  then  the  soimd  of  a 
low  moan. 

"  Is  it  the  rheumatism  again,  granny  ?''  I  said. 

**  Worse  than  that,  worse  than  that,  Mrs.  Kitty," 
she  moaned,  scarce  moving  or  noticing  either  of  us. 
"Toby's  gone  mazed,  clean  mazed,  all  through  the 
Methodists.  He  came  home  from  one  of  their  preach- 
ings last  week  like  one  out  of  his  mind,  and  so  he's 
been  ever  since  ;  bellowing  like  a  bull  one  hour,  and 
moaning  like  a  sick  baby  the  next.  He  says  it's  all 
along  of  his  sins.     And  what  they  be  worse  than 


MRS.   KITTY   TREVYLYAN-.  24o 

other  folk's  I  can't  see  at  all !  The  Lord  is  merciful, 
and  if  He  sends  us  a  '  godsend'  now  and  then,  He 
surely  means  us  to  be  the  better  of  it.  It  was  not  us 
who  raised  the  storm.  And  Toby  never  set  a  false 
light  upon  the  rocks,  nor  gave  any  man  a  push  back 
into  the  sea,  like  some  other  folks.  And  if,  as  he 
keeps  crying  out,  he  didn't  take  the  pains  he  might, 
always,  to  bring  the  drowned  to  life,  it  can't  be  ex- 
pected we  should  do  the  same  for  Indians  and  Popish 
foreigners  as  for  our  own  flesh  and  blood.  Would 
they  do  more  for  us  ?  And  if  he  has  picked  uj)  f 
stray  bit  of  good  luck  now  and  then,  were  we  t 
save  things  for  the  dead,  or  for  the  folks  from  Lon 
don  who  come  prowling  about  where  they've  nr 
business,  with  their  pens  and  paper,  to  rob  them 
who've  got  the  natural  right  to  what  the  Almighty 
sends  on  the  shore  ?  Yesterday  I  got  Master  Hugh 
to  him,  and  he  prayed  like  an  angel,  and  did  him  a 
sight  of  good  for  the  time,  but  to-day  he's  woi-se 
than  ever,  he's  gone  clean  mazed,  and  sv/ears  he'll  go 
and  give  up  everything  he  ever  got  from  a  wreck  to 
the  justices.  And  that,"  continued  the  old  woman, 
breaking  into  a  wail,  "  that's  what  I  call  throwing 
the  Almighty's  gifts  back  in  His  face." 

At  this  moment  Toby's  face  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  inner  chamber,  pale,  and  haggard,  and  wild. 
But  his  voice  w^as  quite  calm  and  steady  as  he 
said, — 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,  I  told  Master  Hugh,  and  he  said  it 
was  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  Parson  Wesley  said 
the  same,  when  I  heard  him  on  the  moors.  He  said 
the  Bible  speaks  of  '  the  fire,'  and  of  '  their  w^orm,' 
and  that  that  means  that  every  sinner  who  is  lost  iu 
hell  will  have  hia  own  torment  mad^  out  of  his  ovrn 


244  THE  DIARY  OF 

sinB.  And  he  said  that  worm  begins  to  gnaw  at  >ur 
souls  noiD  when  we  are  wakened  up  to  feel  our  sins. 
And  the  words  had  scarcely  left  his  mouth,  Mrs. 
Kitty,  when  there  was  the  gnawing  begun  in  my 
heart !  And  it  has  never  stopped  since.  And  if  it 
has  made  me  faint  away  like  a  sick  woman  with  the 
anguish,  and  has  most  driven  me  mazed  in  a  week, 
what  would  it  be  for  ever  ?  For  Parson  Wesley  said 
there's  no  fainting  away,  and  no  going  mazed  in  hell. 
We  shall  always  be  wide  awake  to  feel  the  torment. 
Bui,  Mrs.  Kitty,  he  said  there  is  a  way  of  escape  now 
for  all,  and  for  me.  He  said  there  is  a  way  to  have 
our  sins  forgiven.  He  said  the  Almighty  gives  his 
pardon  as  free  as  air,  and  the  blood  of  the  Lord  can 
wash  all  the  sins  of  the  world  whiter  than  snow. 
But  he  and  Master  Hugh  both  say,  the  Lord  sees  us 
through  and  through,  and  there's  no  way  of  making 
Him  believe  we  are  sorry  for  our  sins  but  by  giving 
them  up,  and  making  up  for  them  as  far  as  we  can. 
They  say  sin  and  hell  go  together  and  can't  be  parted, 
nohow.  So  I've  nought  to  do  but  to  go  to  the  jus- 
tices." 

Evelyn  was  deeply  moved,  and  when  we  reached 
home  and  told  Mother,  she  wept  many  tears,  and 
said  at  length  as  she  wiped  her  eyes, — 

"Kitty,  my  dear,  I  cannot  make  out  about  the 
rubrics  and  the  canons.  They  were  made  by  very 
holy  men ;  and  Mr.  Wesley  does  not  seem  to  mind 
them  as  one  would  wish,  and  I  cannot  think  it  wise 
to  set  ignorant  men  u^  to  preach  and  teach.  But 
his  words  are  those  of  the  Prayer-Book  and  Bible. 
And  his  works  are  those  of  an  angel  sent  from  God. 
And  what  can  we  do  but  give  God  thanks." 

"  I  used  to  be  afraid,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause, 


MKS.  KITTY  THEVYLYAX  24! 

"that  Mr.  Wesley's  was  blind  fanatical  zeal,  well 
meant  but  misguided  ;  but  the  zeal  cannot  surely  be 
fanatical  which  spends  itself  in  labors  of  love ;  nor 
blind  since  it  leads  so  many  into  the  light." 

"  Mr.  Wesley  says,"  responded  Evelyn,  "  that  true 
seal  is  hit  the  flame  of  love,  and  that  all  zeal  is  false 
which  is  full  of  bitternesB,  or  has  not  love  for  its  in- 
spiration." 

And  Mother  said,  thoughtfully, — 

"-ETw  zeal  will  certainly  stand  that  test.  God  for- 
bid that  ours  should  not." 

21* 


Vlli. 

fT  is  a  trouble,  certainly,  about  Hugb  and  the 
parish,  and  I  don't  think  it  helps  me  at  all  to 
try  and  think  it  is  not.  Because  I  haxe  tried 
to  persuade  myself  that  we  could  be  quite  as  happy 
and  a&  useful  elsewhere,  and  have  succeeded  again 
and  again ;  yet  it  always  comes  back  how  dear  the 
old  home  is,  and  how  the  jDeople  love  "  Master 
Hugh,"  and  how  impossible  it  is  for  any  one  to  be 
to  them  what  he  could,  or  for  him  to  be  to  others 
what  he  is  to  them. 

So  that  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is 
best  to  confess  to  Hugh  and  to  myself  that  it  is  a 
trouble,  and  rather  a  great  trouble,  and  to  confess 
this  al"»o  to  God,  and  then,  vdt\\  all  my  heart,  to  trust 
myself  and  mine  to  Him  and  to  submit. 

I  have  also  felt  much  perplexed  as  to  what  sub- 
mission really  is,  whether  we  ought  really  to  like  all 
that  happens  to  us,  as  well  as  to  take  it  without 
complaining. 

But  Hugh  says  submission  does  not  mean  that  we 
are  to  call  bitter  things  sweet,  or  to  try  to  feel  them 
BO,  but  that  we  are  to  take  them,  however  we  dislike 
them,  without  a  murmur,  being  sure  that  the  bitterest 
are  really  good  because  God  sends  them. 

We  are  to  yield  up  our  hearts  a  living  sacrifice  to 


MRS.  KITTY  THEVYLYAK  247 

God,  he  says,  with  all  their  joys,  and  sorrows,  and 
fears,  and  hopes,  just  as  they  are;  not  dried  into 
insensibility,  or  frozen  from  a  fountain  of  life  and 
feeling  to  an  icy  conglomeration  of  principles. 

He  says  it  is  a  good  test  to  ask  ourselves  in  any 
trial,  *'  if  we  could,  would  we  take  the  choice  out  of 
God's  hands  into  our  own  ?" 

And  I  do  find  this  test  comforting,  for  if  God  were 
to  say  to  us  this  very  day,  '^  Choose  which  you  think 
best,"  I  do  feel  sure  both  Hugh  and  I  would  say 
from  our  inmost  hearts,  "  Lord,  we  cannot  see  what 
is  best.  Do  Thou  choose  for  us."  And  He  Ms 
chosen  for  us  without  offering  us  the  choice ;  and 
that,  after  all,  is  just  the  same. 

It  was  a  very  bright  future  that  seemed  to  spread 
out  before  us,  when  poor  Dr.  Spencer  died.  We  had 
«o  many  plans,  Hugh  and  I,  for  getting  at  every  cot- 
Cage  in  the  parish,  and  ministering  to  the  sick  and 
aged,  and  collecting  the  children  to  teach  them,  and 
mducing  the  men  and  women  to  come  to  church.  I 
pictured  the  old  church  full  of  earnest  attentive 
faces,  such  as  we  had  seen  at  Gwennap  Pit,  drinking 
m  the  "  words  of  this  life"  from  Hugh's  lips,  and 
^'in  their  eagerness  and  affection  ready  to  eat  the 
preacher,"  as  Mr.  Wesley  said. 

And  Mother  there  too,  and  Father,  and  by  and  by 
Jack, — all  in  the  old  pew  Sunday  after  Sunday,  re- 
ceiving help  and  comfort  from  Hugh's  words  ! 

But  I  must  not  think  of  it  now.  It  is  a  great 
blessing  Mother  does  not  think  so  badly  of  the  Metho- 
dists as  she  used,  or  it  would  have  been  a  terrible 
sorrow  to  her  to  know  that  Hugh  had  lost  the  living 
because  the  patron  had  heard  he  had  "  a  dangerous 
leaning  to  the  Methodists." 


248  THE  DIARY  OF 

Cousin  Evelyn  is  especially  indignant  because  the 
clergyman  appointed  instead  of  Hugh  is  her  great- 
uncle,  the  Fellow  of  Brazennose,  who  has  exchanged 
a  living  in  the  east  of  London  for  this.  She  says  he 
is  a  mere  dry  scholar,  and  only  looks  on  human  be- 
ings in  general  as  a  necessary  but  very  objectionable 
interruption  to  books. 

Men  and  women,  she  says,  begin  to  be  interesting 
to  him  when  they  have  been  dead  about  a  thousand 
years,  and  his  sermons  will  probably  be  either  ele^ 
mentary  treatises  on  the  impropriety  and  danger  of 
stealing,  and  resisting  magistrates,  or  acute  dissec- 
tions of  the  controversies  of  the  Anti-Nicene  cen- 
turies, which  Betty  will  have  to  apply  as  best  she 
can. 

Hugh  told  me  first  of  this  appointment  when  we 
were  alone.  We  had  walked  to  our  own  dear  old 
cave.  The  tide  was  very  low,  and  we  had  wandered 
on  over  the  sparkling  sand  almost  to  the  very  en- 
trance of  the  little  bay.  The  ebbing  waves  broke 
feebly  on  the  shore  as  if  they  felt  the  struggle  hope- 
less, and  only  continued  it  with  a  kind  of  sullen 
courage,  as  a  warfare  they  had  to  wage  whether  it 
succeeded  or  not. 

And  as  we  paced  up  and  down  there  Hugh  told 
me  of  the  change  which  makes  all  our  future  uncer- 
tain. But  he  told  it  me  in  such  a  way  as  made  me 
feel,  I  scarcely  know  how,  a  kind  of  sad  pleasure.  I 
felt  it  was  the  first  trial  we  had  had  to  bear  togetlier. 
And  it  is  certainly  a  wonderful  help  in  trouble  to 
have  some  one  else  for  whom  we  must  try  to  lighten 
it.  Besides,  Hugh's  presence  is  such  a  help  and 
comfort,  that  it  is  only  since  he  has  left  me  that  I 
have  felt  really  what  the  trouble  is. 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAir,  249 

After  a  little  while  he  said, — 

"  Kitty,  do  you  remember  that  evening  in  the  ship 
on  our  way  from  Bristol,  when  I  spoke  of  God's  call- 
ing us  to  preach  His  gospel  to  those  who  never  had 
heard  it  ?" 

I  remembered  it  but  too  well,  and  the  recollection 
eeemed  to  benumb  me ;  the  three  calls  he  had  spoken 
of;  the  call  in  God's  Word  to  proclaim  it,  of  His 
voice  in  the  heart,  and  the  call  of  His  providence. 
The  last  only  had  been  wanting  then.  It  flashed 
on  me,  only  too  clearly,  that  nothing  was  wanting 
now. 

"  So  many  can  do  the  work  at  home,  Kitty,"  he 
said,  "  and  so  few  have  health,  or  leisure,  or  means 
for  the  work  abroad  ;  and  since  the  one  place  in  the 
world  which  was  home  to  us,  to  which  we  had  ties 
it  seemed  WTong  voluntarily  to  break,  is  closed— 
what  ought  I  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  ask  me  to  decide,  Hugh !"  I  said, 
"  only  decide,  and  I  shall  be  sure  it  is  right." 

"  It  is  a  sacrifice  we  can  only  make  togetlier.,  Kitty," 
he  said. 

"  I  cannot  leave  Mother  and  Father  alone,  Hugh," 
I  said,  "  now  that  Mother  is  so  feeble,  that  we  may 
wander  about  the  world  together." 

"  It  would  be  little  sacrifice  to  me,  Kitty,"  he  said 
in  a  very  low  voice,  *'  if  you  would." 

We  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes.  I  felt  how 
truly  the  sacrifice  was  for  us  both,  and  how  very 
great  it  w^as.  At  last  I  commanded  my  voice  to 
say,— 

"  Hugh,  I  cannot  judge  what  is  right  for  you,  be- 
cause I  cannot  know  what  you  feel ;  but  if  you  do 
vndeed  feel  that  God  is  telling  you  to  do  this,  then  it 


250  THE  DIARY  OF 

is  simply  duty  and  obedience  to  do  it,  and  it  must, 
of  course,  be  done.  And  my  duty  is  to  help  jou  as 
much  as  I  can.  And  I  will,  Hugh,"  I  said,  "  and 
may  God  help  us  both." 

Then  Hugh  said  a  great  deal  in  my  praise  ;  I  do 
not  mean  many  words,  but  a  great  deal  in  a  few 
words,  about  my  being  fit  to  be  a  great  hero's  wife, 
and  about  no  man  having  ever  been  given  such  a 
brave  tender  heart  to  sustain  and  insx^ire  him  as 
mine. 

And  I  am  afraid  I  was  foolish  enough  to  believe 
what  he  said,  not  remembering  how  much  I  have 
always  to  put  down  to  his  love,  and  not  to  my  excel- 
lence. For  I  did  actually  begin  to  feel  myself  quite 
a  heroine,  until  Hugh  went  away,  and  I  came  into 
the  kitchen  and  saw  Betty  polishing  up  one  of  the 
old  oaken  chairs  Hugh  and  I  had  foraged  out  from 
the  lumber-room  for  our  home  that  was  to  be.  And 
.liat  broke  down  all  my  high  courage  at  once  and  sent 
me  to  my  chamber  to  cry  bitterly,  all  by  myself,  and  to 
learn  what  kind  of  a  heroine  or  hero's  wife  I  should 
make. 

And  that  is  a  week  since,  yet  I  have  never  found 
courage  to  tell  Mother  of  Hugh's  purpose,  or  scarcely 
to  look  at  the  rooms  which  were  to  have  been  Hugh's 
and  mine. 

I  have  told  Evelyn,  however,  and  she  enters  into  it 
with  all  the  noble  enthusiasm  of  her  character. 
Cousin  Evelyn,  indeed,  would  have  made  a  wife  for  a 
hero,  or  a  heroine  in  her  own  person.  She  talks 
beautifully  of  the  wonderful  joy  of  teaching  the 
truth  that  makes  the  heart  free  to  the  poor  slaves  in 
the  West  Indies,  and  of  preaching  the  life-giving 
gospel  to  the  American  colonists  who  have  never 


MI!S.   KITTY  TREVrLTAN-,  251 

perhai)s  heard  of  it  except  as  a  faint  echo  of  what 
their  forefathers  were  taught.  There  are  scarcely 
twenty  clergymen,  she  says,  in  all  the  southern 
colonies,  and  many  of  those  are  men  who  have  taken 
refuge  there,  because  their  characters  were  too  bad  for 
them  to  remain  in  England  any  longer.  And  then, 
she  says,  there  are  the  convicts,  our  outcast  countiy- 
men,  working  out  their  sentences  beside  the  negroes 
in  the  plantations. 

*'  How  they  must  want  the  consolations  of  the 
truth,"  she  said,  "  and  what  a  glorious  destiny  to 
carry  it  to  them." 

Cousin  Evelyn  seems  to  feel  for  these  people  and 
their  wants  as  if  she  had  seen  them.  But  it  is 
always  so  difficult  for  me  to  feel  anything  like  real 
love  and  interest  for  masses  of  unknown  people.  If 
I  had  seen  one  of  those  poor  slaves,  had  known  tho 
temptations  and  sins  of  one  of  those  poor  convicts, 
it  would  be  so  different.  And  here  at  home  I  know 
V  every  man,  w^oman  and  child,  and  it  was  such  a 
delight  to  think  of  Hugh  teaching  and  helping 
them  all. 

When  the  Bible  says  "  God  loved  the  world,"  it 
means  that  he  knows  and  loves  eveiy  individual  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  it,  loves  and  pities  each  one 
according  to  the  needs,  and  character,  and  sorrows 
of  each.  But  we  ?  When  we  talk  of  loving  a  whole 
mass  of  people  in  America,  of  not  one  of  whom  we 
know  anything,  what  does  it  raean  'i  If  half  of  tbem 
were  to  be  swallow^ed  up  by  an  earthquake  i  might 
be  sorry  for  the  rest ;  but  I  should  not  shed  as  many 
real  tears  as  if  anything  melancholy  were  to  happen 
to  Betty  or  Eogcr.  And  our  hearts  do  not  beat 
quicker  for  hearing  of  their  prosperity  and  joys. 


253  THE  DTARY  OF 

To  hear  that  thousancls  of  tliem  really  repented 
and  had  found  forgiveness  and  peace  through  be« 
lieving  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  would  certainly 
give  me  great  pleasure  ;  but  it  would  scarcely  make 
my  whole  heart  glad  as  it  would  to  know  that  poor 
Toby  Treffry  was  able  to  rejoice  in  his  Saviour,  and 
was  proving  the  sincerity  of  his  repentance  by  doing 
all  the  good  he  could. 

I  ventured  to  speak  of  this,  a  few  days  since,  to 
Hugh.  I  am  afraid  it  is  such  a  great  defect  in  me 
not  to  be  able  really  to  love  a  multitude  of  people 
I  have  never  seen,  as  other  Christians  seem  to  do. 
But  Hugh  did  not  seem  much  troubled,  he  only 
said, — 

"  Kitty,  our  Father  in  heaven  really  loves  those 
multitudes,  each  one  of  them.  Our  Saviour  shed 
real  tears  over  such,  and  really  died  for  them  all. 
And  you  love  Him.  Is  not  that  enough  to  make  you 
care  to  help  them  V 

And  that  helped  me ;  for  I  feel  that  is  enough* 
It  would  have  been  reward  for  any  toil  or  any  sacri- 
fice to  cause  one  look  of  joy  to  beam  on  the  face  of 
our  Saviour  when  it  was  buffeted  and  crowTied  with 
thorns  for  us.  And  He  is  the  same,  and  the  joy  of 
pleasing  Him  the  same  now. 

I  have  told  Mother  Hugh's  pur^DOse  of  going  as  an 
evangelist  to  America.  And  she  is  not  displeased. 
Blie  says  she  has  often  wondered  how  it  was  that  thft 
l.i'.  ;(l()m  of  Christ  has  not  seemed  to  spread  for  so 
•..j;\'  y  years  ;  that  it  should  be  limited  to  one  quartei 
ot  i.u;  world  when  all  the  rest  are  still  lying  in 
(larUncsH.  She  even  said  that  she  would  have  thought 
It  U'T  greatest  glory  that  a  son  of  hers  should  have 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYaN.  »03; 

gone  on  such  an  errand  to  the  outcast,  and  wretched, 
and  lost. 

Cousin  Evelyn  had  been  urging  much  that  we 
should  all  return  with  her  to  Loudon.  She  says  dear 
Mother  has  a  very  delicate  and  suffering  look,  and 
she  feels  sure  some  of  the  learned  physicians  Aunt 
Beauchamp  knows  could  restore  her  to  health,  since 
there  seems  nothing  dangerous  the  matter.  More- 
over, change  of  air,  she  says,  works  wonders,  espe- 
cially with  a  little  troublesome  imconquerable  cough 
such  as  Mother  has. 

Betty,  on  the  other  hand,  is  very  much  opposed 
to  the  move.  She  says  it  is  a  plain  flying  in  the  face 
of  Providence.  The  Almighty,  she  says,  knows  what 
is  the  matter  with  Missis,  and  He  can  cure  her,  if  she 
is  to  be  cured,  and  if  not,  all  the  journeys  from  one 
end  of  the  world  to  the  other  will  do  nothing  but 
wear  out  her  strength  the  sooner.  Least  of  all 
should  she  expect  any  good  thing  to  come  out  of 
London,  Vvhich  she  considers  a  very  wicked  place, 
where  people  dress  in  purple  and  scarlet,  and  fare 
sumptuously  every  day. 

She  knows  indeed,  sure  enough  (this  in  answer 
to  my  humble  remonstrances)  that  we  are  to  "  use 
the  means;"  but  she  will  never  believe  that  it  is 
using  the  means  to  fly  all  over  the  country,  like  any- 
thing mazed,  after  doctors.  There  is  peppermint 
and  horehound,  and  a  sight  more  wholesome  herbs 
which  the  Almighty  has  set  at  our  doors.  And 
there's  a  doctor  at  Falmouth  who  has  blooded, 
leeched,  and  blistered  all  the  folks  for  fifty  years: 
and  if  the  folks  haven't  all  got  better,  there's  some 
folks  that  never  will  get  better  if  you  blooded  and 


254  THE  DIARY  OF 

blistered  them  for  ever.  She  says  also  that  there  is 
plenty  against  doctors  in  the  Bible,  and  nothing  for 
them  that  ever  she  saw.  King  Asa  got  no  good  by 
seeking  after  them,  and  the  poor  foolish  woman  in 
the  Gospels  spent  all  her  living  on  them  and  was 
nothing  better,  but  rather  worse.  She  hopes  it  may 
not  be  the  same  with  Missis,  although  if  it  were,  she 
adds  significantly,  it  is  not  Missis  she  should  blame, 
poor,  dear,  easy  soul  I 

Nevertheless  Evelyn  has  carried  her  point,  and  in 
a  week  we  are  to  start. 

To-day  Hugh  and  I  went  to  bid  Widow  Trefiry 
good-bye.  She  was  out,  but  we  found  Toby  cower- 
ing over  the  fire  in  much  the  same  hopeless  attitud  : 
as  Evelyn  and  I  had  found  his  mother.  He  had  been 
to  the  justices,  he  said,  and  given  up  the  purse,  but 
he  was  no  better. 

"  Master  Hugh,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow,  dry  voice, 
which  made  me  think  of  the  words,  "  All  my  mois- 
ture is  turned  into  the  drought  of  summer,"  "  Master 
Hugh  !  I  do  believe  that  poor  hand  that  clutched  the 
purse  was  dead!  They  say  dead  hands  do  clutch 
fast  like  that.  But  yet,  I'd  give  the  world  to  have 
that  poor  lad's  body  on  the  sands  again,  just  to  bring 
it  up  to  the  fire  and  chafe  it  as  mother  did  father's 
when  he  was  brought  home  drowned.  All  her  chaf- 
ing and  wailing  never  brought  father's  eyes  to  open 
again.  And  it  mightii't  that  poor  lad's.  Oh,  Master 
Hugh,  the  devils  nmy  s^^ay  whnt  they  will,  but  I  do 
think  it  wouldn't.  But  oh,  Td  give  the  woikl  to 
try." 

'*  Toby,"  said  Plugli,  very  gently,  stooping  down, 
taking  both  his  hands,  so  that  his  face  was  uncovered, 


MRS.  KITTY   TliEVYLYAN^.  255 

and  he  looked  up, — "  Toby,  you  will  never  see  that 
poor  lad's  face  on  the  sands  again." 

"Don't  I  know  that.  Master  Hugh  I"  said  Toby, 
with  almost  a  sob  of  agony. 

"  Suppose  that  poor  lad  was  not  quite  dead,"  Hugh 
continued,  "  and  you  might  have  brought  him  to  life, 
what  would  your  crime  be  V 

"  Oh,  don't  make  me  say  the  word.  Master  Hugh," 
said  the  poor  fellow.  "  I  can't,  I  can't,  though  the 
devils  seem  yelling  it  in  my  ears  all  night." 

"  It  would  have  been  murder  /"  said  Hugh,  very 
distinctly  and  slowly,  in  a  solemn  tone. 

Toby  trembled  in  every  limb,  his  eyes  were  fixed, 
and  he  opened  his  lips  but  could  not  bring  out  a 
word.  Convulsively  he  sought  to  pull  his  hands 
from  Hugh's  grasp  as  if  to  hide  his  face  from  our 
gaze.  But  Hugh  held  him  fast,  and  he  looked  at 
him  with  steadfast  kind  eyes. 

"  It  would  have  been  murder,"  he  repeated.  "  But 
there  is  a  pardon  even  for  murder.  The  thief  on  the 
cross  had  committed  murder,  I  have  no  doubt,  for 
he  felt  crucifixion  no  more  than  he  deserved.  King 
David  had  committed  murder,  and  meant  to  do  it. 
Listen  how  David  prayed  when  he  felt  as  you  do." 

And  Hugh  repeated  the  fifty-first  Psalm.  As  he 
spoke  the  fixed  look  passed  from  Toby's  face.  He 
was  listening,  the  words  were  penetrating.  When 
Hugh  came  to  the  verse,  "Purge  me  with  hyssop, 
and  I  shall  be  clean ;  wash  me,  and  I  shall  be  whiter 
than  snow,"  he  said,  "  The  hyssop  was  an  herb  with 
which  the  blood  of  the  slain  sacrifices  was  sprinkled 
on  the  guilty.  That  prayer  is  clearer  to  us,  Toby, 
than  it  was  to  King  David,  for  since  then  the  Lord 
Jesus  has  really  offered  himself  up  for  us,  and  His 


S50  THE  DIARY  OF 

blood  cleansetb  us  from  all  sin,  and  cleanses  us  wliiter 
than  snow,  so  that  we  may  start  afresh  once  more." 
And  then  he  repeated  on  to  the  end  of  the  Psalm. 

"  There  is  forgiveness,  you  see,  even  for  murder. 
Suppose  it  possible  that  the  Tempter  is  right,  Toby, 
in  whispering  that  terrible  word  to  your  conscience. 
Yet  he  is  not  right  when  he  says  *  there  is  no  forgive- 
ness for  you.'  That  is  the  lie  with  which  he  is  seek- 
ing to  murder  your  soul.  You  must  meet  whatever 
terrible  truth  he  says,  by  laying  your  heart  open  to 
God  and  confessing  all  to  Him,  and  you  must  meet  the 
Devil's  lie  with  the  truth,  *  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
cleanseth  from  all  sin.'  There  is  nothing  els6  that 
can,  and  I  am  sure  if  you  do  this  the  Devil  will  flee, 
and  you  will  overcome  and  be  saved." 

We  knelt  down  and  prayed  together,  and  as  we 
rose  Toby  gasped  out,  *'  God  bless  you,  Master  Hugh ! 
You  do  think  that  there  is  hope  !" 

Before  we  went,  Hugh  found  Widow  Treffry's 
Prayer-Book  and  set  Toby  to  learn  the  fifty-fii*st 
Psalm.  When  we  left,  he  was  sitting  toiling  at  it, 
spelling  it  over  as  if  it  had  been  a  letter  written 
fresh  from  heaven  for  him. 

"  I  hope  I  was  not  abrupt  and  harsh,"  he  said,  as 
we  walked  home,  "  but  I  felt  the  poor  fellow's  an- 
guish was  too  real  to  be  lightly  cured,  that  the  only 
chance  was  to  probe  it  to  the  bottom.  It  is  a  blessing 
for  Toby  that  reading  is  such  hard  work  for  him. 
Every  verse  he  reads  costs  him  more  labor  than  car- 
rying a  heavy  load  up  from  the  shore.  The  work 
will  bring  calm  to  his  poor  bewildered  mind,  so  that 
he  will  better  be  able  to  estimate  what  his  sin  really  is. 
And  the  words  I  do  trust  will  bring  peace  to  his 
poor  tossed  heart." 


MES.    KITTY  TREVYLYAX.  257 

And  Hugh  and  I  were  to  have  spent  our  lives  in 
bringing  such  help  and  comfort  to  our  neighbors  in 
their  sorrows  and  bewilderments  I  But  I  will  not 
murmur.  If  I  could  see  all  the  way  instead  of  only 
a  step,  I  should  wish  things  to  be  as  God  orders 
them,  so  I  will  trust  Him  who  does  see  all  the  way. 

A  letter  has  come  at  last  from  Jack.  It  is  short, 
and  full  of  the  most  exuberant  spirits.  He  has  been 
in  one  or  two  skirmishes  which  he  describes  at  some 
length.  He  is  only  longing  for  a  battle.  Hitherto 
his  adventures  have  only  brought  him  a  scratch  or 
two,  a  little  glory,  and  some  friends.  He  mentions 
one  or  two  young  noblemen  as  his  intimate  com- 
panions, at  whose  names  Evelyn  looked  doubtful. 
She  says  they  had  the  reputation  in  London  of  being 
very  wild,  and  one  of  them  is  a  notorious  gambler. 
He  finds  his  pay,  he  says,  very  nearly  sufficient  so  far 
with  prudence,  and  the  kind  XMrting  gifts  he  received 
at  home.  A  young  officer,  he  says,  and  the  son  of 
an  old  Cornish  house,  must  not  be  outdone  by  upstart 
fellows,  the  sons  of  cockney  tradesmen ;  and  if  he  is 
now  and  then  a  little  behindhand,  some  good  luck  is 
sure  to  soon  fall  in  his  way,  and  set  all  right. 

He  has  not  yet  made  his  fortune.  But  there  are 
yet  cities  to  be  won,  and  after  all,  he  remarks,  there 
are  nobler  aims  in  life  than  to  make  fortunes.  In  a 
postcript  he  adds, — 

*'  Tell  Kitty  that  some  of  her  friends  the  Methodists 
have  found  their  way  to  Flanders.  Some  of  those 
fellovrs  have  actually  hired  a  room  where  they  preach 
and  sing  psalms,  and  make  loud,  if  not  *  long'  prayers 
to  their  hearts'  content.  They  are,  of  course,  laughed 
at  unmercifully,  and  get  pretty  rough  usage  from 


358  THE  DIARY  OF 

their  comrades,  which  they  receive  as  their  portion 
of  martyrdom,  due  to  them  by  apostolical  succession, 
and  seem  rather  to  glory  in.  But  we  must  give  even 
the  Devil  his  due,  and  I  must  say  that  one  or  two  of 
the  best  oflBcers  we  have,  and  our  colonel  among 
them  will  not  have  them  reviled.  Our  colonel  made 
quite  a  sermon  the  other  day  to  some  young  ensigns 
who  were  jeering  at  a  Methodist  sergeant.  *  Keep 
your  jests  till  you  have  smelt  as  much  i)owder  and 
shot  as  he  has,'  said  the  colonel,  and  as  we  were  turn- 
ing away,  he  continued,  *  At  Maestricht  I  saw  one  of 
them  (poor  Stamforth)  shot  fatally  through  the  leg ; 
he  had  been  a  ringleader  in  vice  before  he  became  a 
Methodist,  and  as  his  friend  was  carrying  him  away 
(for  they  stick  to  each  other  like  brothers),  the  poor 
dying  fellow  uttered  not  a  groan,  but  said  only, 
"  Stand  fast  in  the  Lord."  And  I  have  heard  them, 
when  wounded,  cry  out,  "  I  am  going  to  my  Saviour  I" 
or,  "  Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly  P'  When 
Clements,  one  of  their  preachers,  had  his  arm  shot 
off,  he  would  not  leave  the  battle ;  he  said,  "  No,  I 
have  another  ann  to  hold  my  sword ;  I  will  not  go 
yet."  When  a  second  shot  broke  his  other  arm,  he 
said,  "  I  am  as  happy  as  I  can  be  out  of  Paradise."  I 
saw  the  preacher,  John  Evans,  laid  across  a  cannon 
to  die,  both  his  legs  having  been  shot  off,  and  I 
heard  him  praising  God,  and  calling  on  all  to  love 
Him,  till  he  could  speak  no  more.  I  call  that  a  brave 
death  for  any  man.  Indeed,'  said  the  colonel,  *it 
might  be  better  for  all  of  us,  if  we  were  more  like 
them  Drinking  and  dicing  may  be  very  gentlemanly 
amusements,  but  they  don't  make  quite  so  good  a 
preparation  for  a  battle  or  an  hospital-bed  as  the 
psalm-singing  and  preaching  you  despise.     At  least/ 


dlES.  KITTY  TREYYLYAK  250 

he  added,  rather  sarcastically,  *  not  for  privates  and 
non-commissioned  officers.  It  is  easier  at  all  events 
to  collect  the  men  from  the  meeting-house  than  from 
the  tavern,  and  on  the  whole  their  hands  are  steadier. 
But  however  that  may  be,  in  my  regiment  I  choose 
to  have  religious  liberty.'  And,"  concluded  Jack, 
"  some  of  the  young  officers  went  away  looking  rather 
foolish,  for  there  had  been  a  little  difficulty  in  our  last 
affair,  in  collecting  officers  who  were  sober  enough  to 
lead  the  men.  And  we  all  know  our  colonel  is  not  a 
man  to  be  trifled  with." 

"  I  am  glad  Jack  has  such  a  commanding  officer," 
said  Father.  "But  as  to  those  Methodists,  Kitty, 
they  seem  to  overrun  the  world,  like  the  locusts." 

To-morrow  we  are  to  start  for  London,  Mother  and 
Father,  and  Hugh  and  I. 

It  is  getting  late,  but  I  must  write  down  a  few 
words  Cousin  Evelyn  has  just  said,  before  I  pack  up 
my  Diary,  because  they  have  made  me  so  thankful 
and  happy. 

We  had  been  speaking  about  dear  Mother's  illness, 
and  about  the  journey. 

Cousin  Evelyn  said, — 

"Do  you  remember.  Cousin  Kitty,  my  being  so 
shocked  at  your  idea  of  praying  about  a  love  letter? 
I  have  learned,  since  then,  we  may  pray  about  every- 
thing. And  when  I  do,  Kitty,  nothing  seems  too  great 
to  do  or  to  bear,  or  too  little  for  God  to  care  for. 
Often  I  have  been  lost  in  wonder  at  seeing  such 
majesty  as  His  stoop  to  such  requests  as  mine.  But 
since  I  have  been  with  you,"  she  continued,  "  I  won- 
der at  it  less." 


200  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  Wonder  less  at  tlie  condescension  of  God  ?"  I 
said. 

"  Yes,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  I  wonder  less  and  adore 
more.  For  in  your  home  I  have  learnt  more  of  what 
love  is  than  I  ever  knew  before.  And  I  see  that  love 
explains  everything.  It  is  no  wonder  that  love 
should  stoop  to  any  care  or  rise  to  any  sacrifice. 
The  only  wonder  is  the  love — ^that  God  should  love 
us.  But  He  does^  and  that  explains  all."  Then  she 
took  my  hands  in  hers,  and  fixed  her  large  dark  eyes 
on  me  with  that  soft  vdstful  look  which  always  goes 
so  far  into  my  heart,  and  she  said,  "  Oh,  Kitty,  how 
much  you  have  taught  me  !" 

"  Taught  you,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I  said  ;  "  why  you 
have  more  thoughts  in  a  day  than  I  have  in  a 
year." 

*'  You  dear,  foolish,  wise,  little  Kitty !"  she  said, 
*'  as  if  thoughts  made  people  wise  !  Do  you  not  know 
that  there  is  more  power  and  more  wisdom  in  one 
true  loving  heart  than  in  all  the  wise  heads  in  the 
world  ?  Yes,  more  power,"  she  added,  "  for  com- 
pared with  love  things  are  mere  shadows;  we  really 
possess  nothing  exce^jt  as  love  inspires  us  to  use  it, 
and  compared  with  love  thoughts  themselves  are  only 
the  mere  inanimate  things  that  are  moved ;  whilst 
love  is  the  wind,  the  fire,  the  sun,  that  moves  and 
quickens  all ;  the  motive  force,  the  life-giving  power 
of  the  world." 

Our  journey  to  London  was  like  a  holiday  trip  all 
the  way,  after  Aunt  Beauchamp's  coach  met  us  at 
Plymouth.  It  was  stored  by  the  special  care  of 
Aunt  Beauchamp's  housekeeper,  with  a  travelling 
larder  of  plum-cake,  Dutch  gingerbread,  Cheshire 
cheese,  Naples'  biscuit,  neat's  tongues,  cold  boiled 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK,  261 

beef,  with  bottles  of  usquebaugh,  black  cherry  bran- 
dy, cinnamon  water,  and  strong  beer,  to  which  were 
added  sundry  homely  manufactures  of  Betty's  in  the 
shape  of  pasties  and  pies,  and  a  private  store  of 
Mother's  containing  various  wholesome  and  medi- 
cinal herbs.  Two  old  servants  had  been  sent  on 
horseback  to  guard  us  from  the  dangers  of  the  way ; 
and  two  Flemish  cart-horses  were  added  to  the  four 
sleek  carriage-horses  to  pull  our  massive  machine  up 
the  Devonshire  hills,  or  out  of  the  deep  rats  in  the 
miry  roads  through  the  marshy  grounds  of  Somerset- 
shire. In  addition  to  our  escort,  Hugh  rode  beside 
us  armed  with  two  pistols,  and  Father,  inside  the 
coach  with  us,  carried  a  loaded  cavalry  pistol,  so 
that  we  could  have  opposed  a  formidable  front  even ' 
to  a  combined  attack  of  mounted  highwaymen.  We 
met,  however,  mth  no  adventure  beyond  being  once 
01  twice  nearly  "  stugged,"  as  Roger  would  say,  in 
the  mud,  and  once  or  twice  being,  as  he  would  be- 
lieve, "piskyled"  and  missing  our  way,  and  being 
belated  on  the  moors. 

Mother's  conscience  was  rather  disturbed  by  the 
pomp  in  which  we  travelled,  especially  when  the 
landlords  and  landladies  came  bowing  and  courtesy- 
ing  to  receive  "  her  ladyship's  orders." 

"  Kitty,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  really  think  I  ought 
to  tell  them  this  is  not  our  coach.  I  feel  like  an  im- 
postor." 

She  was  consoled,  however,  by  the  reflection  that 
but  for  a  few  accidents  as  to  priority  of  birth.  Father 
might  have  been  riding,  by  his  own  right,  in  a  coach 
quite  as  magnificent ;  wherefore  for  his  sake  she  ab- 
stained from  such  confessions.  And  during  our  brief 
stay  at  the  various  inns  she  generally  penetrated 


»0»  THE  DIARY  OF 

deep  into  the  medical  confidences  of  chambermaids 
and  landladies,  so  that  by  the  time  we  reached  Lon- 
don her  store  of  bitters  and  lotions  had  sensibly 
diminished. 

We  did  not  enter  the  city  till  midnight,  by  which 
time  the  street-lamps  are  all  extinguished;  so  that 
we  plunged  into  the  deep  puddles  and  ruts,  in  spite 
of  our  huge  coach  lanterns  and  two  volunteer  link 
boys,  who  terrified  Mother  by  flaring  their  torches  at 
the  windows.  Once  or  twice  her  terrors  were  in- 
creased by  encountering  some  noisy  parties  of  gentle- 
men returning  drunk  from  various  entertainments, 
and  showing  their  valor  by  knocking  down  the  poor 
old  watchmen,  or  wrenching  off  the  street-knockers. 
One  of  these  parties  actually  surrounded  our  coach, 
armed  with  pistols,  bludgeons,  and  cutlasses,  watli 
hideous  yells  and  demoniacal  laughter ;  when  Father 
(Hugh  having  left  us),  taking  them  for  highwaymen, 
presented  his  cavalry  pistols,  with  some  very  strong 
military  denunciations,  at  the  head  of  one,  demand- 
ing to  know  their  names,  w^hereupon  the  w^hole  com- 
pany decamped,  leaving  Father  in  great  wrath  at 
the  constables,  the  King's  ministers,  and  the  whole 
"  sluggish  Hanoverian  dynasty." 

At  length  we  arrived  at  Great  OiTaond  Street  to 
Mother's  unspeakable  relief.  She  recommended  me 
to  add  to  my  devotions  selections  from  the  Form  of 
Thanksgiving  after  a  Storm  with  that  after  Victory 
or  Deliverance  from  an  Enemy ;  "  for  certainly,  Kitty, 
my  dear,"  she  said,  "  at  one  time  I  thought  we  were 
in  the  jaws  of  death,  and  gave  all  for  lost-— our 
goods  and  even  our  lives.  And  now  being  in  safety, 
we  must  give  all  praise  to  Him  who  has  delivered 
us." 


3rnS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN-.  J:63 

Hugh  and  I  had  more  than  one  quiet  talk  by  the 
way.  The  last  was  one  eyening  when  we  had  ar- 
rived at  an  inn  early  in  the  day,  and  were  taking  a 
walk  in  a  wood  near  at  hand,  when  the  first  prim- 
roses were  beginning  to  dart  up  little  golden  flames 
through  the  earth.  We  were  speaking  of  Jack's  let- 
ter, and  I  was  saying  how  his  principles  about  money 
troubled  me,  and  especially  his  delusion  of  imagining 
it  is  generosity  to  spend  more  than  you  have,  and 
then  beg  of  other  people. 

Hugh  said,  "  It  is  very  difficult  for  people  to  be 
convinced  of  faults  which  go  with  the  grain  of  their 
character.  If  a  man  of  tender  feelings  says  an  un- 
kind word,  it  rankles  in  his  conscience  for  days ; 
while  a  hard  man  inflicts  a  score  of  wounds  in  a  day 
on  his  family  and  dependents,  and  never  has  a  re- 
proachful pang.  A  truthful  person  will  not  be  easy 
until  he  has  repaired  an  accidental  inaccuracy,  where- 
as a  man  who  habitually  boasts  and  exaggerates,  tells 
a  hundred  lies  or  conveys  a  thousand  false  impres- 
sions in  a  day,  and  never  feels  a  weight  on  his  con- 
science. I  suppose  a  miser  who  has  been  grinding  as 
much  out  of  eveiy  one  as  he  can  all  his  days,  living 
for  nothing  but  to  make  his  hoards  more  and  more, 
and  safer  and  safer,  lies  down  at  night  pitying  his 
foolish  extravagant  brother,  and  thanking  God  that 
he  has  not  the  love  of  money  which  led  his  poor 
tempted  neighbor  to  forge  a  bank-note.  It  is  easy 
to  repent  of  the  sins  which  some  temptation  has  led 
us  into  against  the  current  of  our  character ;  but  it 
does  seem  as  if  iiothing  but  AlmigLty  jjower  i!0uld 
make  us  feel  the  sins  which  go  with  the  current  of 
our  characters.  And  yet  this  is  exactly  what  consti- 
tutes our  sin,'''' 


364  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  I  am  so  afraid,  Hugh,"  I  said,  "that  Jack  actually 
prides  himself  on  being  an  open-handed,  generous 
fellow,  just  on  the  strength  of  what  seem  to  me 
his  most  selfish  acts.     And  what  is  to  awaken  him  ?" 

"  Only  One  Voice  can,"  he  replied,  gravely,  "  and 
no  one  can  say  how.  Sometimes  people  are  aroused 
to  the  sense  of  their  habitual  sins  by  falling  into 
some  sin  which  is  against  their  habits ;  sometimes  by 
a  revelation  of  the  true  excellence  of  which  their 
fault  is  the  parody." 

*'  But,"  I  said,  "  what  you  say  about  our  ignorance 
of  ourselves  is  really  fearful.  How  can  we  ever  know 
ourselves  really  ?" 

"  I  do  hot  know  that  we  ever  can,"  he  said,  "  any 
more  than  we  could  heal  ourselves  if  we  did.  There 
is  one  prayer  which  seems  to  me  the  only  fathoming- 
line  for  our  hearts. — '  Search  me  and  try  me,  and  see 
if  there  be  any  wicked  way  in  me,  and  lead  me  in 
the  way  everlasting.'  God  hears  us,  and  with  Hia 
dews  and  His  storms  He  does  search  our  hearts,  and 
sweeps  and  cleanses  every  comer.  Our  poor  brooms," 
he  added,  "  only  transfer  the  dust  from  one  corner  to 
another,  and  often  blunderingly  remove  the  soil  with 
the  refuse.  But  God's  rains  and  winds  make  the 
ground  fruitful  as  well  as  pure.  That  very  primrose, 
Kitty,"  he  said  (pointing  to  one  which  was  sj^ringing 
out  of  the  cleft  of  an  old  tree),  "  a  trim  gardener 
would  have  broomed  away  the  soil  on  which  it  has 
found  board  and  lodging,  and  impoverished  the 
world  of  a  little  world  of  beauty.  Ah  I  no  eye  }>ut 
God's  is  tme  enough  to  search  the  heart,  and  no 
hand  but  His  is  tender  enough  to  probe  it.  There- 
fore, the  strongest  weapon  which  we  have  with  which 
to  help  each  other  is  prayer." 


MUS,   KITTY  TREyYLYAK.  265 

It  always  gives  me  so  much  hope  to  talk  these 
troubles  over  with  Hugh.  The  mere  bringing  one's 
fears  into  the  light  is  a  help,  and  how  much  more  his 
faithful  counsel !  It  will  be  very  hard  to  separate  ; 
but  he  has  obtained  Father  and  Mother's  consent  to 
our  marriage  when  he  has  made  one  or  two  of  his 
missionary  voyages  to  America.  And  after  all,  it 
will  not  be  more  difficult  for  me  than  for  the  be- 
trothed of  a  sailor  or  a  soldier.  So  why  shou\«i  we 
venture  to  call  it  a  sacrifice  ? 

Aunt  Beauchamp  was  at  first  full  of  the  most  san- 
guine hopes  of  curing  Mother.  She  had  herselt  ishe 
declared)  experienced  unspeakable  good  from  a  con- 
coction called  "  angelic  snuff,"  which  cured  (at  least 
for  a  time)  the  most  agonizing  headaches,  the  most 
distressing  attacks  of  vapors ;  indeed,  all  and  each 
of  the  various  contradictory  and  inexplicable  mala- 
dies to  which  her  sensitive  nerves  were  liable.  She 
knew,  moreover,  an  incomparable  doctor  who  had 
effected  cures  that  could  only  be  called  miraculous, 
although  the  ordinary  physicians  and  surgeons,  in 
their  bigotry,  were  narrow-minded  and  envious  enough 
to  ridicule  him.  This  benefactor  of  his  species  after 
driving  about  the  provinces  in  a  coach  and  six,  at- 
tended by  four  footmen  in  blue  and  four  in  yellow 
liveries,  and  followed  everywhere  by  the  tears  and 
blessings  of  the  grateful  multitudes,  had  settled  in 
London  on  his  fortune ;  but  still  at  the  entreaties  of 
those  who  knew  his  worth,  consented  to  practise  in 
private  for  the  benefit  of  a  few  friends  of  distinction. 
"  He  one  day  showed  me,"  continued  Aunt  Beau- 
champ,  "  a  patent  from  the  Sultan  of  Egypt,  a  medal 
from  the  Emperor  of  Persia,  and  a  certificate  from 
33 


266  THE  DIARY  OF 

tlie  King  of  Bantam ;  but  this  was  only  as  an  especial 
favor.  The  excellent  creature  has  not  a  particle  of 
vanity  in  his  composition,  and  sedulously  avoids  all 
display." 

This  gentleman,  after  many  entreaties,  at  length 
consented  to  undertake  dear  Mother's  case. 

Feeling  her  pulse,  as  Aunt  Beauchamp  said,  *'  in 
that  inimitable  manner  of  his,  at  once  tender  and 
scientific,"  and  asking  a  few  questions  (evidently, 
Aunt  Beauchamp  declared,  only  for  form's  sake,  since 
he  had  already  anticipated  all  the  answers),  he  drew 
from  the  silken  pocket  of  his  laced  azure  coat  a  pill- 
box, which,  he  said,  he  had  placed  there  that  very 
morning,  and  which  contained  precisely  the  one  only 
sovereign  remedy  for  Mother's  ailments. 

Such  penetration  and  prescience  combined  Aunt 
Beauchamp  declared  to  be  nothing  short  of  inspira- 
tion. 

But  these  laudations  he  modestly  disclaiined  as 
extravagant.  "  The  medical  faculty,"  he  admitted, 
"  like  the  poetical,  like  beauty  (and  he  bowed  pro- 
foundly to  Aunt  Beauchamp),  could  not  be  made  or 
called  up  at  will.  The  gift  was  congenital ;  it  was 
incommunicable  by  inspiration.  Beyond  this  he 
humbly  disclaimed  any  merit. 

Then,  after  minutely  describing  the  nature  ol 
Mother's  symptoms  in  English  which  sounded  like 
Latin,  and  which  delighted  Aunt  Beauchamp  as 
much  as  it  bewildered  me,  he  took  his  leave,  assur- 
ing Mother  that  with  time,  the  pills,  and  reliance  on 
himself,  her  cure  was  as  good  as  accomplished. 

But  whether  because  Mother's  reliance  is  not  per- 
fect 01  because  she  is  not  a  lady  of  sufficient  distinc- 
tion for  such  sublime  and  sovereign  remedies,  or 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYA1\  267 

•vvhotlier  Betty's  medical  views  are  right  after  all,  I 
cannot  say ;  she  is  worse  rather  than  better,  the  noise 
of  the  streets  distracts  her,  and  Aunt  Beauchamp  is 
becoming  every  day  more  annoyed  with  her  for  not 
recovering,  and  so  doing  justice  to  those  marvellous 
pills ;  and  accordingly  it  is  decided  that  we  are  to 
move  to  Aunt  Henderson's  to-morrow. 

I  do  not  iind  the  household  in  Great  Ormond 
Street  the  same  as  when  I  left.  Evelyn  has  more  to 
suffer  at  home  than  she  ever  hinted  at  to  me  ;  not,  in- 
deed, exactly  persecution,  but  little  daily  annoyances 
which  are  harder  to  bear — those  little  nameless  irri- 
tations which  seem  to  settle  like  flies  on  any  crea- 
ture that  is  patient  and  quiet,  as  Evelyn  certainly  is. 

Poor  Aunt  Beauchamp  has  become  fretful  and 
irritable,  and  keeps  u^)  a  continual  gentle  wail 
against  Evelyn  and  her  eccentricities.  Cousin  Harry  ^ 
from  his  masculine  heights  of  the  race-course  and 
the  gaming-table,  treats  her  "  Methodism  "  with  a 
lofty  sujoeriority  as  a  feminine  peculiarity. 

Uncle  Beauchamp  alternately  storms  and  laments. 
He  was  very  seriously  annoyed  at  her  refusing  the 
neighboring  Squire,  whom  she  mentioned  in  her  letter 
to  me,  and  since  then  had  absolutely  forbidden  her 
attending  any  of  those  "  canting  conventicles,"  as  he 
calls  the  preachings  at  Lady  Huntingdon's,  the 
Tabernacle,  or  the  Foundery.  Moreover  he  actually 
made  an  auto-da-fe  of  all  her  religious  books.  But 
this  Evelyn  considers  to  have  been  rather  a  help  than 
a  hindrance,  as  at  the  particular  time  when  her  fur- 
ther acquaintance  with  this  literature  was  arrested, 
it  was  falling  deep  into  fiery  controversy  concerning 
the  Cahdnistic  and  Arminian  doctrines;  and  she 
says  she  finds  it  more  profitable  to  draw  the  water 


268  THE  DIARY  OF 

of  lilj  from  the  source,  before  tlie  parting  of  tlie 
streams.  By  tlie  time  the  streams  are  open  to  her 
again,  she  hopes  they  will  have  met  once  more, 
and  each  have  left  its  own  deposit  of  mud  behind. 

But  although  I've  seen  her  face  flush  and  her  lip 
quiver  often  at  many  an  unjust  and  bitter  word,  she 
will  by  no  means  be  pitied. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  all,"  I  ventured  to  say  to 
her  one  day ;  ''  I  wish  you  understood  each  other. 
You  have  many  things  to  suffer,  dear  Evelyn." 

"  I  am  no  martyr.  Cousin  Kitty,-'  she  replied,  with 
something  of  her  old  scomfulness,  though  it  was 
turned  on  herself;  "and  please  do  not  try  to  per- 
suade me  I  am.  Half  my  troubles  are  no  doubt 
brought  on  by  my  own  willfulness,  or  want  of  tact,  and 
the  other  half  are  not  worth  calling  troubles  at  all. 
I  think  w^e  sometimes  miss  the  meaning  and  the  good 
of  little  trials,  by  giving  them  too  long  names.  We 
biing  a  fire-engine  to  extinguish  a  candle,  and  the 
candle  probably  bums  on,  while  we  are  drenched  in 
our  own  shower.  We  take  a  sword  to  extract  a 
thorn,  and  drive  it  further  in.  It  is  a  great  thing  to 
know  at  what  page  to  look  for  our  lessons,  because 
if  we  look  for  the  multiplication-table  among  the 
logarithms,  we  shall  probably  persuade  ourselves  we 
are  advanced  scholars,  yet  not  be  clear  about  two 
and  two  making  four." 

"But,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I  said,  "we  must  not,  I 
think,  on  the  other  hand,  call  God's  chastening  rod 
a  trifle,  because  I  suppose  He  means  it  to  hurt  us, 
if  it  is  to  do  us  good.  And  all  the  time  while  wo 
arc  setting  our  faces  not  to  show  the  pain.  He  knows 
it  k  hurting  us,  and  perhaps  He  is  only  waiting  for 
vs  to  be  humbled  and  to  sob  out  our  sorrow  at  His 


MRS.  KITTY  tbevylyan:  269 

leet,  to  lay  it  aside  and  take  us  to  His  heart.  At 
least,  Cousin  Evelyn,"  I  said,  "  I  think  I  have  found 
it  so  sometimes." 

She  colored,  her  lip  quivered,  and  after  a  little 
struggle  with  herself,  she  looked  up  with  her  eyes 
full  of  tears,  and  said  in  a  broken  voice, — 

"  It  does  hurt  me,  Kitty,  oh,  so  much,  so  terribly  I 
Perhaps  after  all  it  was  pride  and  not  humility  that 
made  me  try  to  think  it  did  not.  But  I  was  so  afraid 
of  flattering  myself  that  I  was  a  martyr,  and  that 
I  was  suflering  for  my  virtues  and  not  for  my  faults. 
If  you  had  been  in  my  place,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  I 
have  thought  so  often  you  would  have  made  them 
all  love  you  and  religion  together." 

"  Dear  Evelyn,"  I  said,  "  perhaps  I  might  have 
made  them  content  with  me,  it  is  so  natural  to  me 
as  to  all  creatures  without  horns,  and  hoofs,  and 
stings,  to  creep  out  of  difficulties.  And  perhaps  I 
might  have  persuaded  myself  that,  in  escaping  re- 
proach I  was  recommending  religion.  But  our 
blessed  Lord  did  not  make  every  one  pleased  either 
with  religion  or  wdth  Him.  And  when  we  have 
really  painful  things  to  take  up  and  bear,  unless  we 
glide  out  of  the  way  to  avoid  them,  I  think  it  ought 
to  help  us  to  remember  what  He  said  about  taking 
up  our  cross." 

"  But  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  the  Cross  I  think  what  it 
was  to  Him — shame,  agony,  death,  worse  than  death. 
Shall  I  call  my  little  discomforts  crosses  ?" 

"  Jesus  said.  Every  one  w^ho  followed  Him  w^as  to 
take  up  His  cross,"  I  said. 

''  He  did,"  she  replied  thoughtfully.  Then  look- 
ing up  with  one  of  her  bright  looks,  she  said, — 

"  Well,  Kitty,  no  'hing  on  earth  shall  persuade  me 
2:1* 


270  THE  DIARY  OF 

I  should  not  get  on  better  with  every  one,  if  I  were 
better !  But  perhaps  some  little  portion  of  my 
troubles  could  not  be  avoided ;  and  if  this  is  my 
cross,  it  certainly  makes  it  feel  lighter  to  call  it  so. 
Remembering  that  if  it  hurts  me  so  much,  it  is  not  so 
much  because  it  is  so  heavy,  as  because  I  am  such  a 
child,  and  so  little  used  to  bearing  it.  So,  Kitty,"  she 
continued,  "  by  no  means  draw  my  portrait  as  a  meek- 
eyed  maiden  bowed  down  under  a  picturesque  bur- 
den beautifully  fashioned  into  the  shape  of  a  cross : 
but  as  a  foolish  and  awkw^ard  little  child,  stumbling 
along  under  a  load  which  other  people  could  lift 
with  their  fingers.  But,  O  Kitty,"  she  said,  her 
whole  countenance  suddenly  changing  into  an  ex- 
pression almost  of  anguish,  "  what  miserable  selfish- 
ness to  talk  of  my  burdens  !  Think  of  the  void,  the 
pangs  of  those  w^ho  are  dying  from  the  hunger  of 
their  hearts  for  God,  and  will  not  call  it  hunger,  but 
*  sensibility,'  or  '  repressed  gout,'  or  '  the  restlessness  of 
youth,'  or  '  the  irritability  of  old  age,'  or  the  '  inevit- 
able worries  of  life,'  or  anything  but  that  great 
hunger  of  the  souls  God  created  for  himself,  which 
proves  their  immortality,  and  proves  their  ruin,  and 
might  lead  them  to  Him  to  be  satisfied.  How  am  I 
to  help  them  to  find  it  out  ?" 

"  You  can  pray.  Cousin  Evelyn,  and  show  them 
your  whole  soul  has  found  that  rest  in  God  ;  and  the 
time  wdll  surely  come  when  you  may  tell  them  how. 
Who  knows  how  many  of  the  bitterest  words  come 
from  the  sorest  hearts  ?  No  doubt  the  writhing  of 
his  poor  hands  on  the  nails,  and  the  very  sight  of 
the  patience  of  Jesus  on  the  cross  beside  him,  made 
the  reviling  of  the  thief  all  the  bitterer.  But  in 
another  moment  that  patience  had  overcome :  the 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  271 

railing  was  changed  to — *We  indeed  justly;'  the 
reviling  to — '-  This  man  hath  done  nothing  amiss ;' 
the  curses  into —  *  Lord,  remember  me  ;'  and  the 
agonizing  beginning  of  an  eternity  of  anguish  into 
the — *  Paradise  to-day.'  Ah,  Evelyn,"  I  said,  "  who 
knows  how  near  the  joyful  answer  to  your  prayers 
may  be  ?  who  knows  how  soon  your  cross  may  blos- 
som into  a  tree  of  life  ?" 

She  made  no  reply  for  some  minutes;  she  had 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  But  when  she  looked 
up  again,  it  was  with  a  look  clear  and  solemn  and 
awed  and  bright  as  a  child's  in  prayer,  and  she  said, — 

"  Kitty,  I  think  I  understand  better.  Henceforth  I 
will  not  try  to  trijj  on  under  my  burden  as  if  it  were 
nothing.  I  will  confess  to  myself  and  to  God  when 
it  wounds,  and  humbly  ask  him  to  lighten  or  to  heal. 
But  hope  shall  make  my  tread  lighter  than  ever  pride 
could.  For  who  knows  how  soon  my  cross  may 
blossom  into  a  tree  of  life  ?  It  is  in  the  nature  of  all 
crosses  made  from  the  fragments  of  His,  is  it  not  ? 
Not  nothing^  Kitty.  Our  trials  are  not  even  trifles, 
they  are  the  poor  withering  grains  of  a  harvest  of 
eternal  joys ;  they  are  the  fiery  furnace  of  incorrupti- 
ble graces  for  us,  and,  perhaps,  for  others  too." 

We  are  at  Hackney,  Father,  and  Mother,  and  I. 
This  grave  orderly  household,  too,  is  changed. 

Cousin  Tom  is  gone.  I  knew  he  had  made  a  voy- 
age to  America,  but  until  I  came  here  I  thought  it 
was  only  on  some  business  of  his  father's. 

But  when  I  asked  Uncle  Henderson  for  him,  he 
scarcely  made  any  answer,  so  that  I  felt  something 
was  wrong.  And  the  first  time  I  was  left  alone  with 
Aunt  Henderson,  to  my  great  amazement  she  sat 


272  THE  DIARY  OF 

down,  and  covering  her  face,  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears.  I  think  I  should  scarcely  have  been  more  sur 
prised  if  it  had  been  the  stone  effigy  of  the  lady  in  a 
ruff  in  our  church  at  home,  or  more  entirely  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  to  help  her. 

"  Ah,  Kitty,"  she  sobbed  out  at  length,  "  Kitty, 
child,  you  loved  the  poor  lad,  you  were  always  kind 
to  him,  and  he  loved  you  like  a  sister.  And  I  must 
speak.  Your  uncle  won't  have  his  name  mentioned. 
He  calls  him  an  ungrateful  wretch,  an  Absalom,  and 
he  says  he  is  not  going  to  behave  like  King  David  in 
his  dotage,  that  he  will  never  have  him  under  his 
roof  again.     My  poor  Tom,  my  boy,  my  only  son  I" 

"  But  what  has  he  done  ?"  I  asked ;  "  it  cannot  be 
so  very  bad." 

*'  No  I"  she  exclaimed,  passionately,  "  it  is  not  in- 
deed, it's  your  uncle's  hard,  cold,  miserable  religion 
that  makes  him  judge  the  poor  lad  as  he  does.  Poor 
Tom,"  she  wailed  again,  "  poor  misguided  lad,  if  I'd 
known  better  before,  he'd  never  have  run  away." 

And  then  she  told  me  how  he  had  come  and  openly 
confessed  to  his  father  one  evening  about  his  going 
to  the  theatre  and  other  amusements,  and  having 
contracted  some  debts,  and  Uncle  Henderson  had 
called  him  a  liar  and  a  coward,  and  had  wondered 
how  many  more  sins  he  would  confess  now  he  had 
begun ;  and  how  Tom  had  grown  crimson,  and  had 
said  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  Cousin  Kitty  and 
John  Wesley,  he  would  never  have  confessed  what  he 
had,  for  he  believed  they  had  true  religion,  and  they 
showed  him  the  sin  of  deception,  and  the  little  re- 
ligion he  had  got  from  them  was  what  had  given 
him  courage  to  speak  the  truth  now.  And  then 
Uncle  Henderson  was  more  angry  than  ever,  and 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  .273 

said  Jolin  Wesley  was  an  Arminian  and  a  Jacobite, 
and  Tom  was  a  tliief  and  a  hypocrite ;  and  Tom  grew 
very  white,  and  said  if  he  had  been  a  hypocrite  he 
would  be  one  no  more,  that  he  would  never  set  foot  in 
those  Pharisaical  meeting-houses  again,  nor  have  any 
more  to  do  with  a  religion  which  had  no  kind  word 
for  the  returning  prodigal ;  and  then  uncle  had  turned 
purple  with  anger,  and  had  ordered  him  from  his  pres- 
ence, and  dared  him  not  to  enter  his  house  again  until 
he  could  come  on  his  knees  and  say  he  was  ashamed 
and  sorry,  as  such  an  ungrateful  wretch  should  be. 

"  I  could  say  nothing,  Kitty,"  Aunt  Henderson  con- 
tinued, "  and  I  was  humbled  and  bewildered  so  that 
I  did  not  know  what  to  think ;  but  I  resolved  to  go 
the  next  morning  to  the  poor  lad's  chamber  and  try 
to  soothe  him.  But  when  I  went,  oh,  Kitty !"  and 
she  broke  out  sobbing  again,  "  he  was  gone — he  was 
gone!  The  bed  was  cold — he  had  been  gone  for 
hours.  Plis  chest  was  there,  but  not  a  thing  was 
taken  from  it  except  one  change  of  linen  in  his  little 
valise.  On  the  table  was  a  note  to  me.  I  have  kex)t 
it  in  my  bosom  ever  since." 

She  gave  it  to  me  to  read. 

"  Dear  Mother,"  it  says,  "  we  shall  be  best  apart. 
I  trust  my  clothes  and  books  will  pay  my  debts  if 
father  will  sell  them.  (Here  follows  a  list  of  the 
amounts  owed — not  large.)  You  will  not  grieve 
much,  I  hope,  at  my  going,  for  I  have  been  a  poor 
comfort  to  you.  I  shall  write  when  I  have  anything 
good  to  tell  you.  I  am  going  to  the  American  col- 
onies. Perhaps  I  may  yet  live  to  show  father  that  I 
am  not  such  a  wretch  as  he  thinks  me,  and  to  be 
more  of  a  son  to  you  than  I  have  been. — Your  poor 
son,  '  Tom." 


274:  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  All,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  lie  hoped  I  should  not 
grieve.  Poor  dear  lad,  if  he  had  only  known  how  I 
loved  him  !  If  I  could  only  see  him  for  a  moment  to 
tell  him.  I  am  afraid  I  made  the  house  too  dull  for 
him,  Kitty,  but  I  did  it  for  the  best.  I  thought  I 
had  kept  him  so  safe  from  temptation,  and  oh,  I  used 
to  glory  in  my  foolish  heart  over  poor  Sister  Beau- 
champ.  I  have  little  enough  to  glory  in  now,  and 
little  to  comfort  me  except  John  Wesley's  sermons, 
which  I  attended  first  for  his  sake,  poor  fellow,  and 
a  talk  with  Aunt  Jeanie  and  our  old  gardener.  They 
tell  me  very  good  things  he  said,  and  we  cry  together 
over  him.  They  loved  the  lad ;  he  w^as  a  kind  lad, 
Kitty ;  all  the  servants  loved  him.  Oh,  I  might  have 
won  him,  it  might  have  been  so  different.  But  it  is 
too  late  now.  Your  uncle  has  taken  a  nephew  of  his 
from  Glasgow  into  partnership — a  hateful,  smooth, 
demure  man,  who  never  laughs  or  looks  you  in  the 
face.  And  this  stranger  sits  at  our  table  and  fares 
sumptuously  every  day,  while  our  Tom  is  working 
for  aught  I  know  for  a  crust  of  bread." 

Poor  Aunt  Henderson  I  I  had  little  comfort  to 
offer,  but  she  said  it  was  a  comfort  to  speak  of  him 
to  one  who  loves  him,  as  I  do. 

Aunt  Henderson  is  indeed  much  changed  in  many 
ways.  She  is  softened  and  hum]:)led  ;  and  even  more 
than  that  her  heart  seems  to  have  opened  and  grown. 
She  has  become  a  devoted  disciple  of  Mr.  Wesley. 
Yet  I  cannot  say  her  example  is  altogether  calculated 
to  recommend  Methodism  to  dear  gentle  Mother, 
who,  not  knowing  how  far  trouble  and  a  more 
humbling  religion  have  altered  her,  sees  only  the 
rather   controversial    spirit,  and    the    self-assertion 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  275 

which  yet  remain.  For  the  conviction  that  what- 
ever she  did,  and  believed,  and  said  was  the  one 
standard  of  right,  having  been  rooted  out  as  regarded 
lier  domestic  life  and  plans,  has  taken  refuge  in  her 
religion.  She  is  vehemently  persuaded  that  Method- 
ism is  not  only  a  good  thing  but  the  one  good  thing ; 
that  Mr.  Wesley's  arrangements  about  his  societies 
and  his  bands,  class  meetings,  prayer  meetings,  and 
dress  and  demeanor,  are  the  sole  model  left  upon 
earth  of  Scriptural  piety ;  that  his  Arminian  doctrine 
is  the  truth,  the  one  truth,  which  all  Christians 
w^ould  receive  in  every  detail,  if  sin  did  not  unhap- 
pily darken  their  eyes.  And  since  no  conviction  re- 
mains passive  in  her  mind,  not  only  does  she  lay  aside 
every  ornament  as  a  vestige  of  the  corrupt  world, 
.  but  she  deems  it  her  duty  to  bear  plain  testimony  on 
the  subject  to  all  around  her.  Golds  and  pearls  and 
costly  array  are,  she  declares,  plainly  prohibited  to 
women  professing  godliness,  and  she  glances  signifi- 
cantly at  the  little  gold  brooch  encircling  a  lock  of 
Father's  hair,  with  which  Mother  clasps  her  necker- 
chief. The  one  Scriptural  direction  for  females  she 
vehemently  and  authoritatively  asserts  is  a  meek  and 
quiet  spirit.  And  dear  Mother's  own  meek  and  quiet 
spirit  has  certainly  been  sorely  tried  by  these  attacks 
against  the  cherished  keepsake  which  was  her  one 
bridal  gift,  and  is  her  one  ornament. 

Aunt  Henderson's  chief  controversies,  however,  are 
with  the  cool  and  demure  Scotch  nephew,  who  she 
declares  to  be  at  once  a  red-hot  Calvinist,  a  lukewarm 
Jjaodicean,  and  a  frozen  Antinomian.  She  attacks 
liis  doctrines  with  bitter  and  fiery  assertions  of  the 
universal  love  of  God ;  and  he  meets  her  with  cool 
irresistible  logic  about  the  eternal  predestination  and 


276  THE  DTARY  OF 

final  perseverance  of  tlie  saints,  until  between  them 
tlie  texts  of  the  Scriptures  fly  about  more  like  bullets 
than  the  sweet  dews  of  life.  The  Bible  seems  to  be- 
come no  more  than  a  book  of  arithmetic,  men  and 
women  the  figures,  heaven  or  hell  a  kind  of  sum  total, 
God  himself  a  mere  term,  and  eternity  a  cipher  to  give 
value  to  the  figures. 

Aunt  Henderson's  favorite  doctrine,  however,  is 
the  perfection  of  the  saints  in  this  life.  She  is  very 
indignant  with  the  Moravians  for  denying  this,  and 
declaring  that  to  the  end  of  life  we  remain  '•  pooi 
sinners,"  in  daily  need  of  pardon,  and  only  safe  in 
distrust  of  self.  She  has  several  lamentable  stories 
and  very  severe  sayings  against  this  "poor  sinnerism" 
of  theirs  and  its  consequences  ;  although,  from  what 
Hugh  told  me  once  about  the  Moravian  settlement 
at  Herrnhut,  and  their  self-denying  labors  among 
the  slaves  and  outcasts  abroad,  if  by  creed  they 
are  "poor  sinners,"  in  life  they  seem  to  be  great 
saints. 

But  this  favorite  doctrine  of  j^erfection  is  unhap- 
pily precisely  the  one  against  which  dear  Mother 
thinks  herself  bound  in  conscience  to  do  battle. 
How  the  love  of  God  to  every  human  being  is  com- 
bined with  the  election  of  grace  and  the  perpetuity 
of  faith  in  the  elect,  is,  she  says,  a  great  mystery 
which  she  cannot  fathom,  and  will  not  discuss.  But 
it  is  no  mystery  at  all  to  assert  that  any  poor  sinful 
man  or  woman  can  ever  in  this  life  get  beyond  the 
need  of  confession  and  daily  absolution.  Aunt 
Henderson  admiv3  that  she  herself  has  never  lived 
mider  the  same  roof  with  one  of  the  "  perfect,"  al- 
though she  has  had  many  pointed  out  to  her  as  suet 
in  the  pews  at  the  preaching-house. 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAy.  277 

The  effect  of  all  this  controversy  on  Mother  is  to 
make  her  cling  more  than  ever,  "  like  a  bewildered 
child"  (she  says)  to  the  arms  of  her  dear  mother 
the  Church.  At  every  Lent  she  and  I  attend  morn- 
ing and  evening  prayers  in  a  church  close  at  hand 
every  day,  to  which  Aunt  Henderson,  as  a  disciple 
of  Mr.  Wesley,  cannot  openly  object,  although  she 
drops  many  strong  hints  about  depending  on  exter- 
nal ceremonies. 

Both  Mother  and  I  find  the  quiet  of  the  old 
church  and  the  calm  lowly  devotion  of  the  old 
prayers  very  great  refreshments.  It  does  seem  to 
me  a  blessing  to  have  a  set  of  beautiful  fixed  prayers, 
which  cannot  be  turned  by  the  party  spirit  of  the 
moment  against  some  other  section  of  Christians. 
Because,  when  the  makers  of  the  Prayer-Book  itself 
had  to  make  prayers  against  people  (as  against  the 
PajDists,  in  the  service  for  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  and 
against  the  rebels,  in  the  Restoration  service)  they 
did  make  them  so  very  bitter,  they  sound  very  much 
like  curses. 

But  the  controversies  recorded  in  the  Prayer-Book 
w^ere  finished  so  very  long  ago  that  the  bitterness  has 
faded  out  of  the  most  of  them  for  us,  and  in  general 
there  is  very  little  controversy  in  it  exce^Dt  with  the 
world,  the  flesh  and  the  Devil. 

Yet  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  rougher  and  less 
melodious  words  seem  needed  to  startle  people  out 
of  their  slumber,  so  that  they  may  awake  and  learn 
to  pray  at  all. 

It  is  rather  a  relief  sometimes  wiien  Aunt  Hen 

derson's  warfare  is  turned  from  all  the  misbelieving 

Christians  against  "  poor  Sister  Beauchamp's  cxuack 

24 


278  THE  DTAKY  OIP 

doctor,"  as  she  irreverently  calls  that  benevolent 
gentleman  who  failed  to  cure  Mother. 

Aunt  Henderson  has  on  this  subject  a  theory  of 
her  own.  She  says  it  is  evident  folly  to  imagine  that 
medicine  can  be  anything  but  nasty,  and  the  process 
of  being  cured  anything  but  difficult.  And  this 
theory  she  has  carried  out  by  inflicting  on  the  pa- 
tience of  Mother  such  a  series  of  unpalatable  nos- 
trums and  irritating  applications,  that  yesterday 
Father  rebelled  on  Mother's  behalf;  and  Aunt  Hen- 
derson, after  expressing  her  hiind  very  plamly  on  the 
consequences  that  ensue  when  people  presumptuously 
refuse  to  use  the  means  and  expect  ("  like  the  Cal- 
vinists")  to  get  well  by  an  irresistible  decree,  or 
("  like  the  Moravians  ")  by  "  sitting  still  and  doing 
nothing,"  has  subsided  from  a  very  severe  physician 
inio  a  very  tender  nurse,  overwhelming  Mother  with 
beef-teas  and  jellies,  and  sick-room  delicacies  of 
every  description  ;  sparing  no  trouble  or  expense  in 
behalf  of  her  infatuated  jDatient. 

It  is  in  this  matter  of  expense  that  I  see  the 
greatest  change  wrought  on  Aunt  Henderson  by 
Cousin  Tom's  flight  and  Mr.  Wesley's  preaching. 

With  Tom  she  seems  to  have  lost  the  object  of 
saving. 

'*Why,"  she  says,  "should  I  hoard  up  for  that 
Antinomian  Scotchman,  who  is  a  Jacobite  into  the 
bargain,  I  have  little  doubt,  if  he  had  the  manliness 
to  confess  it?"  And  Mr.  Wesley's  teaching  is  no 
mere  mysticism,  contemplating  the  heavens  from  a 
height  only  to  be  climbed  on  Sundays ;  and  no  mere 
bristling  fence  of  prohibitory  rules.  If  it  is  anything 
it  is  "  ijpirit  and  Zi/e,"  inspiring  labors  of  love,  open- 
ing the  heart,  and  the  hand,  and  the  purse ;   it  does 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN:  270 

not  sell  the  trinket  to  change  it  into  banknotes  as  a 
better  investment ;  it  does  teach  and  inspire  to  give 
abundantly  and  cheerfully,  it  creates  a  link  between 
rich  and  poor,  the  golden  link  of  common  faitli 
working  by  love. 

The  most  pleasing  change  in  Aunt  Henderson's 
house  is  in  the  kitchen,  where  the  servants  are  now 
recognized,  not  as  a  kind  of  animated  brooms  and 
cooking  machines,  but  as  "  sisters  in  the  society," 
and  where  the  sick  and  aged  are  bountifully  pro- 
vided for,  and  hospitably  welcomed  and  fed. 

I  have  w^atched  Uncle  Henderson  very  closely,  and 
I  am  not  sure  he  does  not  feel  Cousin  Tom's  de- 
parture almost  more  than  Aunt.  He  is  so  vei*y 
silent,  and  he  goes  so  much  less  to  business ;  and 
when  his  nephew  brings  him  home  tidings  of  the 
money-market,  and  the  state  of  trade,  and  the  pros- 
pects of  his  ships,  he  listens  with  a  kind  of  forced 
and  languid  attention,  so  different  from  his  old 
keen  though  repressed  eagerness  about  loss  and 
gain. 

And  then  what  makes  him  so  peculiarly  tender  to 
me  ?  He  was  always  kind.  But  now,  when  I  bring 
him  his  pipe  or  a  footstool  for  his  gouty  foot,  his 
voice  almost  trembles  as  he  thanks  me.  And  he  said 
once  to  Mother  that  a  daughter  was  a  good  gift  from 
God. 

And  his  hair  has  grown  so  w^hite  ! 

Oh!  Cousin  Tom  has  done  so  wrong,  has  made 
such  a  terrible  mistake.  I  am  sure  he  will  never  find 
any  real  peace  or  good,  nor  really  learn  what  fne  love 
of  God  is,  until  he  humbles  himself  and  comes  back, 
however  hard  it  may  be,  and  submits. 


380  THE  DIARY  OF 

Unless  indeed  (for  I  must  not  presume  to  make 
predictions  as  to  the  way  in  which  God  in  His 
wonderful  love  may  lead  any  one),  he  should  learn 
first  the  love  and  forgiveness  of  our  Father  in  heaven, 
and  then  come  home  to  confess  and  amend,  and 
learn  the  love  of  his  father  on  earth.  For  if  he  only 
did  learn  that,  he  would  learn  the  rest,  I  have  no 
doubt. 

And  then  we  have  a  little  secret  hope  of  our  own, 
Hugh  and  I  (for  Hugh  is  gone ;  he  went  a  week 
since  ;  but  I  am  not  yet  able  to  sit  down  and 
write  about  our  parting,  it  was  so  wry  hard).  We 
hope  Hugh  and  Tom  will  meet,  for  he  knows  all 
about  Tom ;  and  although  America  is  a  very  large 
place,  it  is  not  so  full  of  people,  Hugh  says,  as  Corn- 
wall. And  there  is  more  chance  of  people  finding 
each  other  on  our  Cornish  moors,  I  think,  than  in 
this  crowded  London. 

But  it  is  not  to  chance  Hugh  and  I  trust.  It 
made  it  a  little  easier  for  me  to  part  with  Hugh,  to 
think  of  this  plan  of  rescuiug  poor  Cousin  Tom. 
It  makes  me  feel  as  if  he  were  safer — as  if  that 
loving  plan  were  a  kind  of  shield  thro^vn  around 
him. 

Yet  I  know  he  has  a  better  shield  than  that.  And 
I  do  not  really  believe  God  will  take  care  of  him 
because  he  has  this  one  good  work  to  do,  but  because 
God  loves  us  both — oh  so  tenderly  1 — and  because  we 
trust  and  love  Him. 

Of  all  the  people  Mother  has  seen  in  London,  she 
likes  Aunt  Jeanie  best  of  all.  Whenever  I  miss  her, 
I  always  know  where  she  is ;  and  when  I  go  across 
the  garden  to  dear  Aunt  Jeanie's  bedside  (she  does 
not  leave  her  bed  now),  there  I  find  Mother  sitting 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  281 

beside  her  singing  a  liymn  of  her  beloved  George 
Herbert's,  or  perhaps  reading  one  of  Aunt  Jeanie's* 
beloved  Scotch  psalms,  or,  oftener  still,  the  Bible. 

Those  two  have  taken  a  wonderful  love  for  each 
other,  which  it  is  very  sweet  to  me  to  see. 

One  day  dear  Mother  was  expressing  to  Aunt 
Jeanie  her  great  perplexities  at  all  those  contro- 
versies and  divisions  of  which  we  have  been  hearing 
so  much. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Trevylyan,"  said  Aunt  Jeanie, 
"  I  think  if  we  could  see  back  through  all  the  years, 
we  should  find  it  had  always  been  just  the  same. 
The  Apostle  Paul  was  sore  tormented  with  the  good 
people  of  his  time,  and  their  bit  notions  and  fancies. 
One  thought  the  resurrection  was  past  already ;  and 
a  stranger  fancy  than  that  has,  I  consider,  never  yet 
possessed  any  crazy  brain  among  poor  sinful  moi-tal 
men.  It  is  less  difficult,  surely,  even  to  fancy  our- 
selves or  others  perfect  than  to  fancy  ourselves  raised 
from  the  dead :  though  I'll  not  say  it's  less  danger- 
ous. But  my  bairns,"  continued  Aunt  Jeanie,  who, 
from  the  height  of  her  three-score  and  ten,  some- 
times seems  to  confound  Mother  and  me  in  one 
generation, — "  my  bairns,  I  think  it  would  be  a 
wonderful  help  in  quarrels  among  Christians,  if  in- 
stead of  trying  to  find  out  how  bad  each  others 
mistakes  may  be,  they  would  try  each  to  find  out 
what  the  other  really  means.  Now,  as  to  this  '  per- 
fection,' Mistress  Henderson  bewildered  me  not  a 
little  when  she  began  about  it.  But  then  I  thought 
Mr.  John  Wesley  is  a  good  man,  and  no  doubt  has 
his  meaning ;  not  so  very  far  out  of  the  way,  per- 
,  if  we  could  find  it  out.  But  he's  a  mar  of 
24* 


283  THE  DIARY  OF 

strong  will,  or  he'd  not  have  done  and  foregone  what 
he  has  ;  and  perhaps  his  will  has  got  mixed  up  with 
his  faith,  and  made  him  say  more  than  he  would,  if 
people  had  tried  to  understand  him  right  at  first. 
And  so  after  pondering  it  over,  I  came  to  think  that 
maybe  Mr.  Wesley  had  seen  too  much  of  people 
talking  of  forgiveness,  as  if  it  were  to  make  sin 
easy,  instead  of  making  holiness  possible,  which  is 
no  doubt,  its  true  end — as  if  their  faults  could  as 
little  be  helped  as  the  rain  or  sunshine.  And  if  Mr. 
Wesley  saw  this,  I  can  conceive  his  honest  heart  ris- 
ing against  it  and  saying,  "  You  are  not  called  to 
keep  sinning  and  repenting ;  you  are  called  to  he  lioly^ 
to  be  perfect.  And,  what  God  calls  you  to  be,  he 
means  you  to  be,  and  will  enable  you  to  be.'  And 
that  is  what  I  think  Mr.  Wesley  must  mean  by 
'  perfection.'  The  rest  followed  when  he  began  to 
cut  and  shape  his  desires  into  a  doctrine,  and  to  send 
it  out  bristling  at  all  points,  to  fight  its  way  through 
the  world.  It  alters  a  house  awfully  when  it  is 
turned  from  a  home  into  a  fortress,  as  I've  seen  done 
in  my  time ;  when  the  nurseries  are  turned  into 
ammunition  rooms,  and  the  fireside  into  a  guard- 
room, and  great  guns  bristle  out  at  the  windows, 
where  the  children's  faces  used  to  smile,  and  the 
garden  fences  are  spiked  into  palisades.  And  it 
fares  sometimes  just  as  ill  with  doctrines  when  they 
have  to  take  to  the  wars.  You  would  scarcely  know 
them  again." 

This  was  a  very  long  speech  for  Aunt  Jeanie ;  but 
it  comforted  Mother  greatly,  and  also  what  she  said 
cne  day  about  the  great  Calvinistic  and  Arminian 
controversy. 

*'God  forbid,"  said  Aunt  Jeanie,  "that  I  should 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN,  383 

think  His  truth  so  low  or  so  small  as  that  I  should 
see  to  the  bottom  or  to  the  top  of  it.  But  I  have 
sometimes  thought  a  great  j)art  of  the  difficulty 
springs  simply  from  people  getting  out  of  God's 
presence.  In  the  Gospels  it  is  mostly  '/'  and  ^ye"* 
and  '  now,''  But  when  men  write  theology,  they  make 
it^he''  and  '•they''  and  HJien^^  which  makes  all  the  dif- 
ference. The  Lord  says  to  us,  *  Come  now,'  '  Come 
ye;'  and  our  now  is  to-day^  but  His  is  eternity.  I 
would  like  to  hear  John  Wesley,"  she  added,  "  and 
George  Whitefield,  and  my  early  friends  of  the  Cov- 
enant, and  yours,  good  Mr.  Herbert  and  the  others 
on  their  knees — not  together^  Mistress  Trevylyan,  in  a 
j)ublic  prayer-meeting,  for  the  prayers  in  public  are 
apt  to  freeze  into  sermons ;  but  alone  before  God,  I 
think  we  should  find  the  prayers  wonderfully  simple, 
and  wonderfully  alike." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mother,  "  before  long  it  may  be 
given  you  to  hear  such  prayers  and  to  join  them 
where  prayers  in  the  company  of  the  great  multitude 
will  be  as  simple  as  that  in  solitude ;  and  where  we 
shall  learn  all  we  are  to  know  by  looking,  not  at  the 
past  or  the  future,  but  on  the  face  of  God !" 

But  when  Aunt  Jeanie  and  dearest  Mother  begin 
to  talk  about  heaven,  it  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear;  their  faces  light  up,  and  their  voices  grow 
deep  with  such  an  intimate  and  reverent  joy,  tliat  it 
seems  as  if  they  must  be  very  near  it,  and  it  always 
makes  me  tremble. 

For  Mother  does  look  very  wan  and  thin,  and  does  - 
not  improve  as  we  hoped,  in  spite  of  all  the  doctors, 
and  all  the  care  and  change. 

But  Aunt  Jeanie  says  I  am  one  of  those  who  al- 
V.  ays  want  to  be  living  on  "  a  land  like  the  land  of 


384  MRS,   KITTY  TllEVYLYAN. 

Egypt,  which  is  watered  by  the  foot."  "  And  a  ery 
wisely  you  would  water  it  all,  my  poor  baini,  no 
doubt,"  she  said.  "  But  the  Lord  will  not  have  it 
so,"  she  added,  taking  my  hand  in  her  dear  thin  old 
hand,  and  smiling  on  me  with  her  old  tender  smile. 
"  The  Lord  will  not  have  it  so  for  any  of  us.  He 
will  have  us  live  in  *  a  land  that  drinketh  of  the  rain 
and  dew  of  heaven.'  And  although  you  may  have 
to  prove  hunger  and  drought  thereby,  my  poor  1am- 
bie,"  she  added,  solemnly  looking  upward  with  a  far 
seeing  look,  as  if  she  saw  into  things  invisible,  "  you'll 
be  sure  to  find  it  best  in  the  end,  and  one  day — one 
day,  my  sweet  bairn — ^I  shall  hear  you  say  so.  And 
we  shall  turn  it  into  a  hymn  together,  you  and  yours, 
and  I  and  mine ;  and  it  will  be  a  hymn  to  which  all 
the  holy  angels  will  delight  to  listen.  And  as  far  as 
they  can  they  will  join  in  it,  m  far  as  they  can^'*  she 
added,  rising,  as  she  did  now  and  then  when  very 
deeply  moved,  it  seemed  almost  unconsciously  into 
prayer,  "  For,  O  Lord,  thou  tookest  not  on  thee  the 
nature  of  angels ;  and  it  is  we,  it  is  ue  only  who  can 
say,  *  Thou  hast  led  us  all  that  long  way  through  the 
wilderness.  Thou  hast  humbled  us  and  sufferei  us 
to  hunger,  and  fed  us  with  manna.  Thou  has(  "^ 
deemed  us  to  God  by  Thy  blood.' " 


IX. 

April,  1T50. 

fE^tvNK   God  we  are  at  home  again,  wMcli  a 
month  since  I  scarcely  expected  to  be. 

At  Hackney  on  Friday  morning,  March  the 
8th,  I  was  startled  out  of  my  sleep  in  the  early  dusk 
before  dawn  by  a  heaving  and  a  jarring,  which  made 
me  think  in  the  confusion  of  waking  that  I  was  at 
sea  again  with  Father  and  Hugh,  and  that  the  ship 
had  struck  agamst  a  rock,  and  was  grating  over  it. 

I  sjDrang  up  instantly,  mth  a  vague  fear  of  drown- 
ing ;  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  horror  of  utter 
helijlessness  which  followed,  when  I  perceived  that 
it  was  Aunt  Henderson's  great  crimson-damask  four- 
post  bed  which  was  thus  tottering — that  it  was  the 
gigantic  polished  oak  wardrobe  whose  doors  were 
flying  open,  and  the  familiar  white  jug  and  bason 
which  were  lattling  in  that  unaccountable  way  against 
each  other. 

It  flashed  on  me  at  once  that  it  was  the  earth  that 
was  moving — ihe  solid  earth  itself  heaving  like  the 
sea ! 

My  first  impulse  was  to  throw  myself  on  my  knees 
by  the  bedside.  Then  I  committed  myself  to  God, 
and  felt  there  wasi  something  yet  that  "  could  not  bo 
moved." 


2W  THE  DIAltY  OF 

Then  followed  another  shock  and  jarring  motion. 
The  fire-irons  rattled,  the  water  jug  fell  and  waf 
broken,  the  wardrobe  tottered  and  strained.  And 
there  seemed  something  more  awful  in  the  unwonted 
noises  among  these  familiar  things  than  there  would 
have  been  in  the  roar  of  a  cannonade  or  any  other 
strange  sound. 

But  besides  these  noises,  and  through,  and  behind, 
and  underneath  them,  came  a  low  distant  rumble 
like  thunder,  which  yet  was  not  thunder ;  not  above, 
but  beneath,  for  it  seemed  quivering  through  the 
earth. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  wrapping  myself  in  my 
great  cloak,  rushed  out  to  Mother's  room. 

The  frightened  servants  were  already  gathered  on 
the  landing,  ciying  that  the  end  of  the  world  was 
come,  and  wringing  their  hands  and  wondering  what 
would  become  of  mistress,  who  has  gone  to  the  early 
X)rayers  at  the  Foundery.  Uncle  Henderson  appeared 
in  a  night-cap  and  blanket,  and  then  Father  in  a 
military  great-coat. 

All  had  rushed  together  with  the  instinct  of  fright- 
ened cattle.  No  one  had  thought  of  striking  a 
light. 

I  crept  to  Mother's  bedside,  and  kneeling  down, 
pressed  her  hand  in  both  mine. 

*'  My  darling,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so  thankful  we  are 
together.  If  only  Jack  were  here,  Kitty  !  If  only  I 
could  feel  he  was  safe,  whatever  happened !  Kitty, 
let  us  be  still,  and  pray  for  Jack." 

For  Mother  thought,  like  most  of  us,  that  the  end 
of  the  world  was  come. 

Another  shock,  and  jar,  and  rumble  of  that  awful 
underground  thunder ;  and  then  a  fearful  crash  above 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  "     287 

US,  and  a  piercing  shriek  from  all  outside,  with  sobs, 
and  cries  of  "  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me."  Another 
crash,  and  another  burst  of  shrieks  and  sobs. 

And  Mother  said  nothing,  but  solemnly  clasj^ed  her 
hands  in  prayer. 

Then  there  came  a  stillness  and  a  hush  in  the 
voices  outside,  and  through  the  silence  we  heard  the 
wind  rustling  in  the  tall  elm-tree  close  to  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  that  the  dusk  was  slowly  creeping  into 
dawn. 

And  Mother  said  solemnly, — 

*'  It  was  to  be  in  the  morning,  Kitty !  At  least  I 
always  thought  so.  And  O  child,  it  must  be  less 
terrible  than  death  !  If  only  I  were  sure  about  Jack  I 
What  are  lightnings  and  thunders,  and  the  rolling 
together  of  heaven  and  earth  as  a  scroll,  compared 
with  the  severing  of  soul  and  body,  of  husband  and 
wife,  of  mother  and  child  ?  And  then,"  she  said,  as 
if  that  hope  absorbed  all  terror,  and  all  other  hopes, 
^''Eia  appearing !  His  glorious  appearing !  It  is  to 
come  one  day,  and  suddenly,  we  are  told.  Who  can 
say  when  it  may  not  come  ?" 

It  was  very  strange,  the  awful  apprehension  which 
terrified  so  many  that  night  out  of  all  their  dreams 
of  security,  seemed  to  give  Mother  a  calm  and  an  as- 
surance I  never  heard  her  express  before. 

If  at  other  times  the  question  had  been  asked  her, 
"Lovest  thou  me?"  she  would  have  answered,  "I 
hope  so.  I  fear  it  is  very  little  ;  but  I  only  trust  it 
may  be  called  love." 

But  now  that  she  thought  He  might  indeed  be  at 
hand,  all  thought  of  her  short-comings  seemed  ab- 
sorbed in  the  thought  of  Him.  She  never  thought 
of  her  love.     She  loved,  and  looked  for  Him. 


288  TUE  DIARY  OF 

I  remember  it  all  so  distinctly,  because,  after  that 
little  prayer  by  my  own  bedside,  I  cannot  think  why, 
but  my  terror  seemed  to  vanish,  and  almost  my  awft. 
I  felt  almost  ashamed  of  myself,  as  if  it  were  an  irrev- 
erence, that  I  could  not  feel  the  apprehension  others 
did.  But  after  all,  though  the  house  trembled,  it 
did  seem  to  stand  quite  firm.  And  when  that  great 
crash  came,  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  was  like  a 
chimney  falling;  for  afterwards  I  heard  the  stones 
and  mortar  rolling  down ;  and  when  no  harm  fol- 
lowed, I  thought,  "  now  all  that  is  likely  to  fall  has 
come  down,  and  the  danger  is  over." 

I  felt  quite  angry  with  myself  for  being  so  insen- 
sible, but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  suppose  it  was  be- 
cause I  have  so  little  imagination. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  heard  Father's  voice  rising  in  a 
tone  of  quiet  command  above  the  sobs  of  the  maids, 
desiring  one  of  them  to  bring  him  a  tinder-box. 
Then  the  house-door  was  unbarred,  and  very  soon 
Father  re-entered  the  room  with  a  light,  and  said, — 

*'  It  is  an  earthquake,  but  not  very  violent.  I  have 
felt  far  severer  shocks  when  I  was  on  service  in  the 
West  Indies.  The  crash  was  the  chimney  falling 
through  the  roof  of  the  old  part  of  the  house.  The 
danger  is  over  for  the  present,  but  it  may  recur ;  and 
we  should  be  prepared." 

Not  long  after.  Aunt  Henderson  came  back  in  her 
sedan-cliair  from  the  Foundery. 

She  told  us  that  they  were  all  assembled  in  the 
large  preaching-house,  when  the  walls  were  shaken 
BO  violently  that  they  all  expected  the  building  to 
fall  on  their  heads.  A  great  cry  followed,  and 
shrieks  of  agonized  terror.  But  Mr.  Charles  Wes- 
ley's voice  immediately  rose  calmly  above  the  tumult, 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYA2r,  289 

Baying,  "  Therefore  will  we  not  fear  though  the  earth  'be 
moved.,  and  the  hills  he  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea  ; 
for  the  Lord  of  hosts  is  with  us  ;  the  God  of  Jacob  is 
our  refuge,^'"^  Evelyn  was  there,  Aunt  Henderson 
said,  and  observed  to  her  that  "  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  have  an  earthquake  a  week,  to  see  the  hearts 
of  the  people  shaken  as  they  were  then."  "  Evelyn 
is  a  strange  girl,  but  there  is  more  in  her  than  I 
thought,"  she  concluded. 

And  I  thought,  "  how  strangely  we  shall  all  be  re- 
vealed to  each  other,  when  the  Day  really  comes 
which  will  strip  off  all  disguises  and  take  the  blind- 
ing" beams  "  out  of  all  eyes !" 

The  danger  was  not  over.  One  messenger  after 
another  continued  to  arrive  with  accounts  of  the  tot- 
tering walls  and  falling  chimneys  they  had  seen,  and 
with  wild,  incoherent  rumors  of  the  ruin  and  destruc- 
tion of  which  they  had  heard. 

At  eight  o'clock  Aunt  Beauchamp's  coach  drove 
up  to  the  door,  and  she  herself  crept  out  of  it  with 
Evelyn,  her  grey  hair  streaming  in  dishevelled  locks 
imder  her  hood,  her  face  wan  and  haggard  with  ter- 
ror and  the  absence  of  rouge. 

"  ]My  dearest  sister,"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  her- 
self hysterically  into  Aunt  Henderson's  arms,  "the 
chimney-stacks  were  crashing  through  the  roofs  in 
Great  Ormond  Street,  the  tiles  raining  like  hail  on 
the  pavements,  the  people  shrieking  and  crying,  the 
streets  full  of  flying  coaches  and  men  on  horseback. 
I  wanted  to  have  escaped  from  the  city  at  once,  but 
Sir  John  said  it  was  impossible  for  a  day  or  two,  so 
I  have  taken  refuge  with  you  for  the  night." 

*  Tide  Wesley's  Journal, 

25 


290  THE  DIARY  OF 

Poor  Aunt  Beauchamp  was  very  teuder  and  sub- 
dued. She  was  ready  to  listen  to  any  amount  of 
Bcrmons  (provided  she  were  in  a  safe  place),  from 
Aunt  Henderson,  even  when  they  descended  to  such 
details  as  hair-powder  and  rouge-pots  ;  although 
she  decidedly  objected  to  accompanying  her  to  Mr. 
Wesley's  five  o'clock  early  morning  service  at  the 
Foundery. 

"  My  dear  Sister  Henderson,"  she  sobbed,  "  you 
and  Kitty,  and  Evelyn,  and  every  one,  have  become 
so  good  I  and  I  am  a  poor,  foolish,  worldly  old 
woman.  I  am  sure  I  do  feel  I  want  some  kind  of 
religion  that  would  make  me  not  afraid  to  meet 
whatever  might  happen.  If  you  really  think  it 
would  make  me  safe,  I  would  attend  that  Chapel 
at  the  Foundery,  or  Mr.  Whitefield's  Tabernacle,  or 
anything.  But  I  cannot  go  back  among  the  totter- 
ing houses  now.  It  is  too  much  to  expect.  If  you 
could  only  find  any  one  to  preach  in  the  open  air, 
we  might  go  in  our  chairs,  and  there  would  be  no 
danger.'* 

"  My  dear  Sister  Beauchamp,"  replied  Aunt  Hen- 
derson, grimly,  *'  we  cannot  go  in  our  chairs  to 
heaven." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sister  ?"  was  the  reply ;  ''  the 
Methodists  do  not  recommend  pilgrimages,  do  they  ? 
I  am  sure  I  have  often  wished  we  Protestants  had 
something  of  that  kind.  Lady  Fanny  Talbot  comes 
back  from  her  retreat  in  Lent  looking  so  relieved  an 
comfortable,  feeling  she  has  arranged  everything  for 
the  year.  But  the  worst  of  the  Methodists  is,  they 
seem  never  to  have  done." 

Aunt  Henderson's  horror  at  this  suggestion  was  so 
great,  she  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  of  reply. 


MES.  KITIY  TREVYLYAK  991 

And  then  Mother  said  very  quietly, — 

"  Dear  Sister  Beauchamp,  the  Bible  and  good  men 
say  religion  is  not  only  a  shield  against  destruction, 
it  is  a  staff  in  all  the  troubles  of  life,  and  a  cordial 
which  we  never  want  to  Tiave  done  with.  For,  if  reli- 
gion does  anything  for  us,  I  think  it  leads  us  to  God, 
and  that  is  our  joy  and  our  rest." 

Tears  gathered  in  Aunt  Beauchamp's  eyes,  not 
hysterical  tears ;  and  she  looked  at  Mother  with 
something  like  one  of  Cousin  Evelyn's  wistful,  ear- 
nest looks,  and  said  very  softly, — 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  know  much  of  that,  sister ; 
I  wish  I  did." 

On  the  following  night  Aunt  Beauchamp  insisted 
on  whirling  Father,  and  Mother,  and  me  away  to 
Bath  in  her  coach. 

She  would  not  wait  an  hour  after  Sir  John  was 
ready ;  and  we  started  at  midnight.  Link  boys  ran 
beside  us  through  the  dark  and  silent  streets.  The 
city  seemed  deserted.  We  met  no  noisy  rollicking 
parties.  Only  in  two  places  did  we  encounter  a 
crowed.  One  of  these  places  was  Moorfields,  where  a 
crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children  had  collected, 
weeping  and  lamenting  with  no  one  to  comfort  them ; 
and  the  other  was  Hyde  Park,  where  Mr.  Whitefield 
Avas  preaching  to  a  multitude  who  had  gathered 
around  him  in  their  terror,  as  little  children  round  a 
mother's  knee. 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  as  we  drove  slowly  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd.  Here  ana  there  the  uncer- 
tain flare  of  torches  revealed  a  group  of  awe-stricken 
faces,  many  of  them  wet  with  silent  weeping  ;  while 
the  dense  throngs  beyond  were  only  manifest  from 


202  THE  DIART  OF 

that  peculiar  audible  hush  which  broods  over  a  list- 
ening multitude,  broken  here  and  there  by  an  irre- 
pressible sob  or  wail,  or  by  agonized  cries,  such  as, 
"  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me  a  sinner,"  or  "  What  shall 
I  do  to  be  saved  ?" 

We  scarcely  spoke  to  each  other  all  that  night, 
and  it  was  very  strange  when  the  dawn  crept  up  the 
sky  to  see  the  highways  thronged  with  coaches,  and 
horsemen,  and  pedestrians  flying  as  from  a  doomed 
or  sacked  city,  and  to  feel  of  how  little  avail  it  was 
to  fly  if,  after  all,  it  was  the  earth  itself,  the  solid, 
immovable  earth  that  was  being  shaken. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  me  to  see  what  a  kind 
o^  tender  reverence  crept  over  the  manner  of  both 
Father's  sisters  towards  Mother,  before  we  left  Lon- 
don. 

Aunt  Henderson,  as  she  packed  up  for  us  a  hamper 
full  of  jellies  and  cordials,  on  the  night  of  our  de- 
parture (inserting  one  large  phial  of  her  favorite 
compound  of  snails  and  mashed  slugs),  said  to  me 
authoritatively,  as  if  she  were  completing  an  act  of 
canonization, — 

"  Kitty,  my  dear,  your  Mother  and  Aunt  Jeanie  are 
the  best  women  I  know.  They  are  as  good  examples 
of  perfection  as  I  ever  wish  to  see.  They  may  argue 
against  the  doctrine  as  much  as  they  like,  but  they 
prove  it  every  day  of  their  lives.  You  understand, 
my  dear,  Mr.  Wesley  only  argues  for  Ch'nstian^  not 
for  Adamic  or  angelic  perfection.  He  admits  that 
even  the  perfect  are  liable  to  errors  of  judgment, 
which,  your  poor  Mother  also  proves,  no  doubt,  by 
her  little  bigotry  about  the  Church,  and  Aunt  Jeanie 
by  two  or  three  little  Presbyterian  crotchets.  But 
your  Mother's  patience,  and  her  gentleness,  and  her 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  293 

humility,  Kitty,  and  her  calmness  in  danger  I  shall 
never  forget.  I  should  be  very  happy,  Kitty,"  she 
concluded,  decisively  tightening  the  last  knot  of  one 
of  her  packages,  "  with  all  my  privileges,  to  be  what 
she  is.  And  how  she  attained  such  a  height  in  that 
benighted  region  is  more  than  I  can  comprehend." 

"But,  dear  Aunt  Henderson,"  I  ventured  to  say, 
"  the  grace  of  God  can  reach  even  to  Cornwall !" 

The  parting  between  Mother  and  dear  Aunt  Jeanie 
was  like  a  leave-takiag  of  sisters ;  and  for  keepsakes 
Mother  gave  a  beloved  old  volume  of  Mr.  George 
Herbert's  hymns,  and  Aunt  Jeanie  an  old  worn  copy 
of  the  letters  of  Mr.  Samuel  Rutherford. 

We  stayed  three  or  four  days  at  Bath,  during  which 
Aunt  Beauchamp's  sjDirits  revived,  and  also  her  color, 
and  her  interest  in  cards,  "  For,  after  all,"  she  observed 
to  Mother,  "  we  have  our  duties  to  our  children,  and 
to  society,  and  there  is  no  religion,  at  least  for  us 
Protestants,  in  making  ourselves  scarecrows." 

But  on  the  morning  we  went  away,  when  we  went 
to  her  bedside  to  wish  her  good-bye,  she  said  to 
Mother, — 

"  My  dear  Sister  Trevylyan,  if  ever  I  should  be  ill, 
for  we  are  all  mortal,  and  my  nerves  have  been  so 
terribly  shaken,  promise  me  that  >ou  will  come  and 
see  me.  For  I  am  sure  you  would  do  me  more  good 
than  any  one." 

And  nothing  would  satisfy  her  but  to  send  us  all 
the  way  to  Plymouth  in  her  coach  although  the  coach- 
man vehemently  remonstrated,  and  declared  he  would 
not  answer  for  the  consequences  to  the  horses  on  those 
break-neck  Devonshire  hills,  and  Evelyn  said  such  an 
instance  of  rebellion  against  that  potentate's  decree 
had  never  been  known  in  the  family  before. 
25* 


204  THE  DIARY  OF 

And  so  we  reached  home  again,  and  dear  Mother 
thinks  (as  Evelyn  says  no  doubt  the  sun  does),  that 
this  is  a  very  warm  and  genial  world. 

There  was  a  strange  tenderness  in  Aunt  Hender- 
son's manner  as  she  took  leave  of  Mother  and  me ; 
and  as  we  sat  in  the  coach  at  Hackney  waiting  for 
the  horses  to  start,  she  came  forward  again  and  took 
Mother's  hand  with  a  lingering  eagerness  as  if  she 
had  some  especial  last  words  to  say.  Yet  after  all 
she  said  nothing,  she  onl^  murmured,  "  God  bless 
you  both." 

And  when  T  glanced  back  at  Cousin  Evelyn  when 
we  left  Bath,  expecting  one  more  of  her  bright  looks, 
she  was  gazing  at  Mother  with  a  strange  wistfulness, 
and  then  suddenly  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and 
turned  away. 

Can  Mother,  and  Father,  and  I,  have  been  deceiv- 
ing ourselves  ?  She  says  she  feels  better  and  stronger, 
and  so  often  on  the  journey,  she  used  to  plan  how  we 
would  resume  all  our  old  habits,  and  she  would  rise 
early  again.  "  There  is  such  life,"  she  said,  "in  the 
morning  air  at  home,"  and  I  should  bring  her  the 
new  cup  of  milk  as  of  old  to  the  porch-closet,  and 
"  then,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  we  will  read  the  lessons 
for  the  day  always  together;  perhaps  I  have  not 
sought  the  especial  blessing  promised  to  the  *  txco  or 
three  gathered  together^''  as  I  ought.  And  you  shall 
read  me  sometimes  one  of  those  hymns  of  Dr.  Watts 
or  of  Mr.  Charles  Wesley.  I  an  an  old-fashioned  ^^f\ 
woman,  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  understand 
why  people  cannot  be  satisfied  with  the  Bible 
and  the  Prayer-Book,  nor  how  they  can  speak 
of  their  inmost  feelings  in  those  Bands  and  Classes 


MRS.  KITTY  TliEVYLYA^r,  295 

your  Aunt  Henderson  speaks  of,  without  danger. 
But  I  do  like  the  hymns,  and  I  am  sure  we  ought  all 
to  feel  grateful  to  the  Methodists  for  helping  the  peo- 
ple no  one  else  ever  thought  there  was  any  hope  of 
helping,  or  of  teaching  anything  good." 

And  although  dear  Mother  has  not  been  able  to 
begin  all  the  old  ways  just  yet,  that  is  no  more  than 
is  natural.  She  is  fatigued  with  the  journey.  In  a 
few  days  it  will  be  all  right. 

And  as  to  Betty,  it  is  of  no  use  asking  what  she 
thinks,  or  minding  what  she  says,  because  it  is  her 
way  always  to  take  the  dark  side,  especially  if  other 
people  look  on  the  bright.  And  Betty's  reputation 
as  a  prophetess,  moreover,  is  bound  up  with  the  ill 
success  of  this  London  expedition. 

It  was  rather  a  sad  greeting  the  night  we  came  near 
home.  It  was  growing  dusk,  and  everything  was 
very  still,  when  a  low  chaunt  broke  on  us  from  the 
opposite  hill.  Solemnly  the  measured  music  rose 
and  fell,  like  the  rise  and  fall  of  waves  on  a  calm  day, 
until,  as  we  drew  nearer,  the  hill-side  sent  the  sound 
back  to  us  so  clearly  we  could  distinguish  it  to  be 
the  deep  voices  of  men  singing  as  they  moved  along 
the  moorland.  From  the  slow,  steady  movement  we 
knew  too  well  what  the  sad  procession  must  be.  We 
did  not  say  anything  to  each  other.  But  when  we 
were  sitting  at  supper  in  the  hall,  Mother  asked 
Betty  which  of  the  neighbors  was  dead. 

"  It  was  old  Widow  Treffry,"  said  Betty,  ''  and 
Toby  has  joined  the  Methodists  lately,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  his  class  carried  her  to  the  church-yard  to- 
day, singing  one  of  Parson  Wesley's  hymns  as  they 
went" 


396  THE  DIARY  OF 

"  It  was  very  solemn  and  sweet,"  said  MotLer.  "  Ifc 
made  me  think  of  the  stories  my  father  used  to  tell 
me,  when  I  was  a  child,  of  the  ancient  Church,  and 
the  funeral  of  the  martyrs." 

"  Poor  old  Widow  Treffry  was  no  martyr,  and  not 
much  of  a  saint,"  said  Betty  candidly,  "  though  they 
do  say,  poor  soul,  she  changed  latterly.  Nothing 
would  save  her.  It  was  spotted  fever.  Poor  Toby 
♦  takes  on  dreadful.  He  did  all  that  could  be  done  for 
her,  and  spared  no  expense,  and  they  gave  her  sack, 
cold  milk,  apples,  and  preserved  plums,  as  much  as 
she  could  swalloAv.*  But  it  was  all  of  no  use,  as  of 
course  nothing  is,  when  the  Almighty's  time  is  come 
for  any  of  us." 

"I  wish  we  had  returned  a  little  sooner,"  said 
Mother.    *'  I  have  a  wonderful  prescription  for  fever." 

"  So  had  the  doctor  from  Falmouth,"  said  Betty 
grimly. 

Trusty's  welcome  was  far  more  manifest.  Having 
exhausted  all  his  ordinary  modes  of  expressing  satis- 
faction with  his  tail,  and  gone  through  all  his  limited 
vocabulary,  from  a  rapturous  bark  to  a  certain  whine, 
he  let  off  the  remainder  of  his  exuberant  spirits  in  an 
eccentric  excursion  into  the  poultry-yard,  causing 
great  quacking  and  cacklings  and.  flutterings  there, 
by  his  rough  extempore  jokes ;  and  finally  spent  the 
evening  in  a  sober  and  intelligent  way,  snuffing  about 
each  of  us,  until  he  evidently  felt  satisfied  that  he  had 
smelt  out  the  whole  history  of  our  absence. 

The  contrast  between  Betty's  deeds  and  words  was 
even  more  apparent  than  usual  on  our  return  home. 

Every  little  detail  of  Father's  and  Mother's  comfort 

•  See  Wesley's  Jouxnal. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN,  297 

and  even  of  my  fancies,  was  remembered,  on  the  sup- 
per-table, in  our  chambers,  everywhere;  the  chairs 
set  in  the  very  comer  we  liked,  the  preserves  and 
biscuits  we  preferred,  a  little  fresh  packet  of  Virgin- 
ian tobacco  for  Father,  and  in  Mother's  chamber  her 
favorite  books  placed  on  a  little  table  by  her  bedside, 
every  corner  of  every  room  sweet  and  fresh  with 
laborious  sweeping  and  rubbmg.  Welcome  glistened 
from  every  white  tablecloth  and  sheet,  and  gleamed 
from  every  bit  of  metal  or  polished  wood  in  the 
house. 

It  was  evident,  indeed,  that  for  weeks  Betty  had 
been  revelling  in  a  paradise  of  washing-tubs,  scrub- 
brushes,  wax  and  oil,  and  soap,  uninterrupted  by  any 
of  the  hindrances  interposed  by  the  disturbing  pro- 
cesses of  ordinary  life.  But  in  words  and  manner 
she  received  us  like  a  band  of  delinquents  who,  after 
vainly  flying  from  home  and  duty,  had  at  length  per- 
ceived their  folly,  and  were  now  returning  in  peni- 
tence and  humiliation. 

I  knew  there  was  much  bottling  up  in  Betty's 
mind  to  be  uncorked  on  the  first  convenient  occasion ; 
and  to-night  the  occasion  arrived,  as  I  was  going  to 
bpd,  when  I  took  her  out  of  my  chest  a  beautiful 
copy  of  Mr.  Wesley's  collection  of  hymns  bound  in 
red  morocco,  as  a  present  from  Cousin  Evelyn,  with 
her  affectionate  remembrances. 

"  Good  reason,  indeed,  Mrs.  Kitty,  we  have  to  re- 
member Mrs.  Evelyn,"  she  said,  "  and  are  likely  to 
have.  However,  it's  a  mercy  Missis  has  come  back 
at  all." 

*'  The  doctors  all  say  she  is  better,  and  she  feels  so, 
Betty,"  I  said. 

"  Poor,  dear  Missis,"  said  Betty,  "  yes,  sure,  she's 


298  THE  DIARY  OF 

ready  enough  to  feel  what  the  doctors  or  any  one 
else  like  to  impose  on  her.  However,  after  all  the 
signs  and  tokens  I  have  had,  it's  a  mercy  we're  all 
together  again,  and  I'll  say  no  more." 

"  What  signs  and  tokens  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  am  not  superstitious,  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear," 
said  Betty.  "  Some  folks  be  always  looking  out  for 
wonders,  and  of  course  such  folks  see  plenty ;  but 
I'm  not  one  of  them.  I  never  see'd  a  ghost  in  my 
life,  man,  woman,  or  beast,  though  my  mother  did ; 
and  of  course  I've  heard  of  many.  But  the  house  has 
been  mortal  wisht,  I  can't  deny,  these  last  days.  The 
dog  don't  howl  all  night  in  that  way  for  nothing. 
He  was  glad  enough  to  see  you  all  come  back,  poor 
fool ;  and  no  doubt  he  had  his  reasons.  They  do  say 
beasts  see  more  than  we  see  at  times.  Nor  do  the 
birds  come  pecking  at  the  window  after  dark  with- 
out being  sent ;  nor  will  the  old  white  owl  hoot  liim- 
self  hoarse  only  to  please  himself;  nor  the  dishes 
tumble  down  from  the  dressers,  where  I  set  them  as 
firm  as  a  rock,  nor  the  bells  ring  without  ever  a  hand 
going  near  them." 

*'  There  are  mice,  Betty,"  I  suggested. 

*'  There  he  mice,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  solemnly , 
"  but  it's  my  belief  no  mouse  or  rat  pulled  Missis' 
bell  that  way  three  times  at  midnight,  leastways  no 
rrwrtal  mice  or  rats ;  for  what  beasts  there  may  be  in 
the  other  world  is  not  for  me  to  say." 

A  strange  chill  came  over  my  heart  at  Betty's 
words,  and  still  more  at  her  tones ;  and  at  length  I 
said, — 

"  But,  Betty,  whatever  strange  things  or  creatures 
there  may  be  about  us,  the  other  world  is  God's 
world  R5  much  as  this,  and  nothing  can  go  beyond 


MliS.   KITTY  THEFYLYAJ^.  299 

His  will.  There  is  no  dark,  terrible  comer  of  the 
World  left  out  of  his  presence,  Betty ;  and  where  He 
is  there  is  light." 

"  That's  been  my  only  comfort,  my  dear,"  said 
Betty.  "  No  doubt  there's  no  darkness  with  the 
Almighty ;  but  there  be  a  good  deal  that's  not  quite 
light  and  plain  to  me.  Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Kitty," 
she  concluded  in  an  awe-stricken  whisper,  "  that  I'd 
have  bided  here  alone  all  this  time,  with  all  these 
noises  going  on,  and  no  one  but  Roger  to  speak  to, 
and  he  with  not  as  much  sense  as  the  dog,  if  I  hadn't 
had  the  Almighty  to  look  to,  and  if  He  hadn't  taught 
me  to  pray  ?  I'm  not  timorsome  nor  fancical,  but  the 
sweat  has  stood  on  my  face  like  dew  many  a  time ; 
and  I  be  cruel  glad  to  see  you  all  home  again  !"  she 
concluded.  And  these  were  Betty's  first  words  of 
welcome ;  and  she  left  me  to  go  to  bed  in  her  own 
room  inside  mine,  but  in  a  minute  she  came  out 
again  and  said, — 

"  Don't  you  take  on  about  anything  I  said,  my 
dear.  You  know  it  may  have  been  only  poor  Widow 
Trefiry  after  all ;  and  anyway  we  must  trust  the 
Lord,  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear  ;  we  must  trust  the  Lord." 

But  somehow  poor  Betty's  attempts  at  consolation 
have  made  my  heart  fail  more  than  all  her  signs  and 
tokens. 

I  have  always  prayed  so  much  that  I  might  not 
blind  my  eyes,  but  look  in  the  face  whatever  God 
sends,  and  try  to  bear  it  as  it  is.  It  always  seems  to 
me  that  we  should  meet  troubles  as  Mr.  Wesley  says 
he  likes  to  meet  mobs  :  "  I  always  like  to  look  a  mob 
in  the  face,"  said  he.  Yet  we  ought  not  to  go  out  of 
our  way  to  meet  the  mob.  That  would  not  be  true 
courage.     It  would  be  a  nervous  apprehension  and 


800  THE  DJARY  OF 

fear,  able  to  bear  anything  better  than  the  suspense 
of  waiting  to  see  what  is  to  come.  It  seems  to  me  to 
require  far  less  courage  to  rush  at  the  enemy  than  to 
wait  for  him ;  and  yet  this  waiting  courage^  this  pa- 
tience, is  just  what  we,  at  least  we  women,  seem 
most  to  need  in  this  life. 

Not  a  year  since,  as  regarded  those  dearest  to  me, 
I  could  walk  by  sight  rather  than  by  faith  ;  Mother, 
and  Father,  and  Jack,  and  Hugh,  all  here  together. 
And  now  Jack  is  in  the  army  in  Flanders,  and  Hugh 
on  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  At  any  hour  I  know  not 
what  may  be  happening  to  them.  Mother,  indeed, 
our  precious  Mother,  I  can  be  with  every  moment ; 
I  can  watch  her  every  look,  I  can  anticipate  her  every 
want ;  and  yet  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  Mother  were 
even  less  within  my  grasp,  less  to  be  kept  by  any 
clinging  touch  of  mine,  than  either  Jack  or  Hugh  ! 

I  watch  her  night  and  day,  and  yet  I  cannot  tell 
whether  my  fears  delude  me,  or  my  hopes. 

She  has  not,  indeed,  gained  much  since  last  year, 
but  to-day  she  looks  a  little  brighter  than  yesterday, 
and  to-morrow  she  may  be  a  little  stronger  than  to- 
day ;  and  so  by  degrees  all  will  be  well. 

Yet  it  is  just  when  I  have  reasoned  myself  into 
most  hope  that  the  old  fears  come  back  most  power- 
fully. 

And  then,  as  now,  I  have  but  one  resource — but 
one. 

Thinking  may  drive  away  many  cares  and  lighten 
many  sorrows ;  but  for  suspense,  for  uncertainty,  for 
anxieties  whose  issues  we  cannx>t  know,  it  seems  to 
me  there  is  no  remedy  at  all  but  prayer. 

But  oh,  how  could  we  bear  the  overwhelming 
thought,  "  Thm  lcn(nDe»t^^''—i\iQ  thoaght  that  there  ih 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  801 

a  certainty  somewhere, — unless  we  had  also  the  con- 
viction warm  at  our  hearts,  "  Thou  loxeat^'''' — the  cer- 
tainty that  the  deepest  certainty  of  all  is  the  love  of 
Him  who  orders  all  ? 

Yesterday  afternoon,  when  Mother  and  I  returned 
from  a  little  walk  to  the  entrance  of  our  cave,  where 
she  had  rested  a  little  while  on  a  rock,  to  drink  in 
the  air  from  the  sea,  which  was  as  soft  as  milk,  and 
made  the  heart  glad,  like  wine  when  one  is  weary, 
we  found  the  parlor  occupied  by  our  new  vicar, 
Cousin  Evelyn's  great-uncle.  Betty  was  talking  to 
him  at  the  door ;  and  when  he  had  greeted  us,  the 
vicar  observed  in  rather  a  nervous  way  to  mother 
(Evelyn  had  not  told  us  how  shy  and  nervous  he 
was), — 

"  Your  servant,  madam,  seems  a  woman  of  shrewd 
sense  and  much  observation  ;  and  I  grieve  to  say  she 
confirms  the  worst  reports  I  have  heard  of  the  parish 
as  to  wrecking  and  other  lawless  proceedings." 

"Indeed,  sir,"  said  Mother,  smiling,  "we  have  lived 
here  very  peacefully  for  many  years ;  and  Betty  does 
not  always  see  the  world  on  its  brightest  side." 

"  Madam,  you  relieve  me  considerably,"  he  replied; 
"the  accounts  that  good  person  gave  were  really 
appalling — I  may  say,  without  exaggeration,  in  many 
respects  really  appalling.  A  clergyman,  madam,"  he- 
resumed,  after  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  his  gold 
snuff-box,  "  has  many  things  to  discover  on  his  first 
arrival  in  a  new  locality,  especially,  I  may  say,  I  trust 
without  offence,  in  a  locality  which  has,  at  all  events, 
not  as  yet  attained  the  point  of  civilization  on  which 
we  stand  at  Oxford, — that  is,"  he  continued,  qualify- 
ing  his  assertions  in  a  nervous  way,  as  if  he  were  cor- 
26 


803  THE  DIARY  OF 

recting  something  written,  "  not  in  all  particulars — 
not  precisely  in  all  particulars." 

As  the  assertion  was,  at  least  in  that  modified  form, 
rather  undeniable,  Mother  could  only  say, — 

"  You  must,  indeed,  sir,  find  the  contrast  great." 

"  Madame,"  he  replied,  "  I  do  ;  yes,  I  think  I  must 
admit  I  do."  And  then,  fortifying  himself  with 
another  pinch  of  snuff,  he  rushed  at  once  (as  I  have 
noticed  nervous  people  frequently  do)  at  the  point 
he  had  to  reach. 

"Madam,"  he  resumed,  "I  have  been  informed  that 
there  is  a  conventicle  held  on  Sunday  evenings  in  this 
house." 

Mother  colored,  and  rose ;  but  it  evidently  cost  the 
vicar  too  much  to  make  the  assertion  not  to  pursue  it ; 
he  could  not  rely  on  his  own  courage  for  a  second 
charge,  and  accordingly  pressed  it.  "  Yes,  madam,  a 
conventicle,  in  which  is  also  perpetrated  the  further 
enormity  of  female  preaching.  I  was  also  informed 
that  in  this  conventicle  the  most  pointed  allusions 
are  made  to  the  clergy ;  that  it  is  spoken  of  as  a  great 
marvel  that  any  good  gift  or  grace  should  be  given 
to  the  bishops  or  curates  :  and  that  last  Sunday  eve- 
ning it  was  actually  stated,  in  the  most  offensive  man- 
ner, that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  indeed  if  the 
priests  showed  forth  God's  glory,  cither  -by  their 
preaching  or  by  their  living.  Madam,"  concluded 
the  vicar,  having,  I  suppose,  exhausted  his  ammuni- 
tion, and  relapsing  into  his  usual  nervous  and  cour- 
teous manner — "madam,  a  clergyman,  a  stranger, 
does  not  know  what  to  believe.  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred seeing  Captain  Trevylyan  ;  but  since  your  ser- 
vant told  me  he  was  out,  I  did  not  like  to  wait." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mother,  who  by  this  time  had  resumed 


3fBS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN',  803 

hor  seat  and  her  composure,  "  you  have  acted  with 
true  courtesy  and  frankness.  On  the  winter  Sunday 
evenings  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  collecting  our 
two  servants,  wdth  a  few  of  our  ailing  and  aged  neigh^ 
bors  to  read  the  Church  service  to  them  and  some 
passages  from  the  Homilies." 

'''The  Church  service  and  the  Homilies?  Avery 
primitive  and  praiseworthy  custom,  madam !"  said 
the  vicar,  evidently  greatly  relieved,  "  and  only  a  few 
aged  people,  within  the  legal  number,  no  doubt ;  not 
more  than  thirty-nine  ?" 

"  I  never  counted,  sir,"  said  Mother. 

"  No  doubt,  my  dear  madam,  no  doubt ;  but  you 
would  in  future  be  particular  on  that  score.  The 
times  are  perilous,  madam,  and  these  Methodists 
seem  to  have  penetrated  even  here.  No  doubt  my 
informant  was  mistaken." 

"  Perhaps,  Mother,"  I  ventured  to  suggest,  "  the 
vicar's  informant  was  a  Dissenter.  You  always  read 
the  prayer,  '  O  God,  who  alone  workest  great  mar- 
vels, send  down  on  all  bishops  and  curates, — and 
last  Sunday  Father  read  the  Litany, — and  you  re- 
member '  both  by  their  preaching  and  living.'  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  vicar,  seizing  at  the  escape, 
"  the  young  lady's  suggestion  shows  great  acutencss. 
And  my  informant  may  himself  be  a  dangerous  per- 
son, a  nonconformist,  perhaps  even  himself  a  Metho- 
dist." 

At  this  point  Father  entered ;  and  over  a  bottle  of 
claret,  the  unequalled  greatness  of  Marlborough  and 
the  degeneracy  of  the  times,  the  misundei*standing 
was  finally  adjusted,  the  only  combustible  element 
again  introduced  being  Cousin  Evelyn,  on  the  men- 
tion of  whose  name  and  our  relationship  the  vicar 


804  THE  DIARY  OF 

observed  that  she  was  a  young  person  of  much  abil 
ity,  but  with  a  tendency  to  dangerous  opinions,  a 
decided  tendency  to  very  dangerous  opinions. 

At  last  he  left  with  many  profound  bows,  saying, — 

"  Madam,  such  society  and  such  hospitality  as  I 
have  found  under  your  roof  have  gone  far  to  remove 
the  unfavorable  impressions  previously  produced  by 
that  good  person,  your  housekeeper's  statements. 
Her  accounts  of  the  moral  state  of  the  district  were 
alarming,  I  may  say  appalling,  to  the  highest  de- 
gree." 

"  It  is  very  strange,  however,"  said  Mother,  when 
the  vicar  had  left,  and  she  related  the  interview  to 
Father,  "  that  any  one  should  confound  me  with  the 
Methodists,  and  suspect  me  of  holding  conventicles. 
It  is  very  strange,"  repeated  Mother,  in  a  tone  of  no 
little  annoyance. 

*'  Very  strange,  my  dear,"  said  Father  with  a  mis- 
chievous twinkle  in  his  eye ;  "  but  I  have  always  ob- 
served it  is  the  cautious  people  who  get  into  the 
worst  scrapes." 

•'  But,  Betty,"  I  said  this  morning,  "  what  did  you 
tell  the  vicar,  to  frighten  him  so  about  the  parish  ?" 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  ''  I  told  him  pretty 
nigh  everything  I  could  think  of :  about  the  wreck- 
ers tying  lanterns  to  the  horses'  tails  to  entice  ships 
on  the  rocks,  and  murdering  the  crews,  and  firing  on 
the  King's  men,  and  about  the  poaching,  and  the 
fights  among  the  miners,  and  all  the  worst  things 
that  have  happened  these  last  thirty  years.  I  was 
set  on  it  he  should  know.  What  right  had  he  or 
any  stranger  to  come  here  a  prying  or  spying  into 
our  country,  and  specially  into  our  owti  town-place. 


JilliS.    KITIY  TEEVYLYAK  805 

and  tc  lurn  away  Master  Hugh,  who  has  got  the 
hearts  c  f  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  parish  ? 
I  only  wish  I  could  teriify  the  old  gentleman  out  of 
the  country." 

Finding  Betty  in  an  approachable  mood,  I  took 
the  opportunity  of  asking  what  her  opinion  was  on 
Mr.  Wesley's  doctrine  of  "  perfection." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said,  "IVe  got  my  thoughtfe 
on  that  matter,"  and  she  began  to  elaborate  the  orna- 
ments on  the  pie-crust  in  a  way  that  betokened  a 
long  discourse.  ''  In  the  first  place,  my  dear,  it's  my 
belief  that  when  a  man's  not  a  fool  in  general,  ^\  lien 
you  do  understand  him,  it's  a  wdse  thing  to  tuink 
he's  not  a  fool  when  you  don't  understand  him,  but 
to  try  to  make  out  what  he  does  mean.  That\i  my 
way;  some  folks,  Mrs.  Kitty,  go  just  the  other  way, 
however  that's  no  concern  of  mine.  Kow,  my  dear, 
when  I  heard  the  folks  say  that  Parson  Wesley  said 
there  are  some  poor  mortals  on  earth  who've  got  be- 
yond sinning,  I  said  to  myself.  Parson  Wesley's  no 
fool,  that's  plain  if  nothing  else  is,  and  he  must  have 
8ome  meaning.  And  so  I  said  to  some  of  the  folks, 
*  Did  he  say  you  were  perfect  and  had  got  beyond 
sinning  V  And  when  they  said  '  No,'  I  cftid  '  Well, 
leastways,  he's  right  enough  there.'  And  that  quieted 
them  for  a  bit.  So  I  was  left  to  think  it  out  for  my- 
self. 

"And,  Mrs.  Kitty,  it's  my  belief  Faroon  Wesley 
means  this.  He  has  seen,  maybe,  some  folks  sit 
down  moaning  and  groaning  over  their  dns  as  if 
their  sins  were  a  kind  of  rheumat5rim  in  their  bones 
and  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  ic  but  to  bear  it. 
For  Fve  seen  such  folks,  Mrs.  Kitty,  I  can't  deny, 
folks  calling  themselves  Christians^  who'd  speak  of 
26* 


806  THE  DIARY  OF 

their  tempers  or  their  laziness,  or  their  flesh  as  they 
call  it,  as  if  their  flesh  were  not  themsehes,  but  a 
kind  of  ill-natured  beast  they'd  got  to  keep,  that 
iDould  bark  and  snap  at  times,  and  no  fault  of  theirs. 
Some  folks,  if  you  speak  to  them  of  their  faults,  will 
shake  their  heads  and  say,  '  Yes,  we're  poor  sinners 
and  the  flesh  is  weak,  but  when  we  get  to  heaven, 
it'll  be  all  right.  We  can't  expect,  you  know,  to  be 
perfect  here.'  And  if  Parson  Wesley  ever  came 
across  such  I  can  fancy  Ms  being  aggravated  terrible, 
for  they  he  aggravating,  and  have  many  a  time  an- 
gered me.  And  I  can  fancy  his  going  up  to  them  in 
his  brisk  way  and  saying,  ^  You  poor  foolish  souls, 
you'll  never  get  to  heaven  at  all  in  that  way,  and  if 
you  don't  get  sin  out  of  your  hearts  now  you'll  find 
it'll  be  death  by-and-by.  Get  up  and  fight  with  your 
sins  like  men.  The  Almighty  never  meant  you  to  go 
on  sinning  and  groaning,  and  groaning  and  sinning. 
He  says  you  are  to  be  holy^  you're  to  be  perfect^  and 
what  the  Almighty  says  He  means.  Get  up  and  try, 
and  you'll  find  He'll  he/p  you.  And  if  they  do  try, 
the  Almighty  does  help  them ;  and  instead  of  keep- 
ing on  sinning  and  moaning,  they'll  be  singing  and 
doing  right.  They'll  be  loving  the  Lord  and  loving 
each  other.  And,"  continued  Betty,  "  that's  what  I 
think  Parson  Wesley  means  by  '  perfection.' " 

*'  Some  folks,"  she  resumed  after  a  pause,  "  seem 
to  think  going  to  heaven  is  a  kind  of  change  of  air, 
that'll  make  their  souls  well  all  in  a  moment,  just  as 
other  folks  think  going  to  London  '11  make  their 
Dodies  well  all  in  a  moment.  But  I  don't  see  that 
changes  of  place  make  the  body  any  better,  and  1 
don't  see  why  it  should  the  soul.  Parson  Wesley 
Bays  eternity  and  etoraal  life,  and  forgiveness  of  sins. 


MRS,  KITTY  TREYYLYAK.  807 

and  holiness,  and  heaven  itself,  must  begin  in  the 
soul,  here  and  now,  or  they'll  never  begin  there  and 
then.'  And,"  she  concluded,  "  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear, 
it's  my  belief  that's  what  Parson  Wesley  means  by 
*  perfection ;'  and  if  he  means  anything  else,  or  any- 
thing wrong,  it's  no  concern  of  mine,  my  dear,  for 
Parson  Wesley's  not  the  Bible,  and  it  isn't  at  Ms 
judgment-seat  we've  got  to  stand." 

And  so  saying,  Betty  laid  her  pie-crust  on  the 
dish,  put  the  dish  in  the  oven,  and  finished  the  inter- 
view. 

She  seems  to  have  arrived  at  much  the  same  con- 
clusion as  Aunt  Jeanie. 

Mother  said  this  morning  she  thought  all  danger 
of  infection  from  the  spotted  fever  from  which  poor 
Widow  Trefty  died  must  be  over,  and  that  we 
might  go  and  see  how  poor  Toby  was  getting  on. 

'^  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  his  being  alone  in  that 
dreary  place,"  she  said,  "  with  all  those  melancholy 
thoughts  he  had  when  Hugh  and  you  went  to  see 
^im  ;  and  he  must  want  many  little  comforts." 

So  Mother  and  I  went  off  together,  she  on  the  old 
^rey  pony,  a  basket  full  of  "  little  comforts"  hanging 
from  the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  We  found  the  cot- 
tage-door open,  but  no  one  within.  The  widow's 
donkey,  now  in  a  good  old  age,  was  standing  with 
closed  eyes  and  an  expression  of  the  most  stupid 
repose  near  the  door.  As  I  went  a  few  steps  from 
the  cottage  towards  the  sea,  I  heard  the  sound  of 
low  singing  broken  by  occasional  hammering,  and 
mingling  with  the  plash  of  the  ebbing  waves  which 
were  creeping  lazily  up  the  sands  in  the  calm  of  the 
summer  noon. 


808  THE  DIARY  OF 

In  a  few  minutes  we  found  Toby  mending  his  boat 
on  the  shingle,  the  grey  pony  was  turned  loose  to 
graze  on  the  short  sweet  turf  near  the  cottage,  the 
contents  of  the  basket  were  disposed  of  within,  and 
Mother  and  I  seated  ourselves  on  a  rock  beside 
Toby. 

There  was  a  look  of  order  about  the  cottage  and 
about  Toby's  dress,  rather  new  to  both,  and  Mother 
commended  it. 

"Well,  Missis,"  said  Toby,  after  a  shy  pause, 
"  there  u  a  difference.  There's  something  more  like 
order  and  comfort  inside,  I  trust,  than  there  was, 
thank  the  Lord." 

"You  think  Mr.  Wesley  and  the  Methodists  helped 
you,  Toby,"  said  Mother. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Missis,  I  hnow  they  did.  But  it 
was  not  them  only,"  he  resumed  with  some  hesita- 
tion, pulling  his  hair  and  making  a  shy  nod  at  me, 
"  it  was  partly  Mrs.  Kitty  and  Master  Hugh.  The 
first  thing  I  believe  that  did  me  any  good  was  seeing 
Mrs.  Kitty  in  a  rage  all  along  of  the  old  donkey." 
And  then  he  went  on  to  tell  us  how  on  that  morning 
many  years  ago  when  I  met  him  on  the  cliff,  beating 
his  donkey  (he  said),  and  had  spoken  so  shaq^ly  to 
him  about  it,  and  then  looked  so  kind  and  given  him 
a  drink  of  new  milk,  he  had  ridden  on  laughing  in 
himself  at  the  "  tantrums"  of  young  ladies,  and  won- 
dering equally  why  I  should  care  about  the  beast 
being  beaten  or  about  his  being  liungr}\ 

But  he  said  it  was  curious  how  my  words  and 
looks  stuck  to  him.  It  seemed  somehow  to  weaken 
him  to  the  thought  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
right  and  wrong,  and  that  the  right  thing  was  kind- 
ness and  goodness ;  and  he  said  that  from  that  time- 


MRS.  KITTY  TEEVYLYAK  809 

lie  had  never  lifted  his  hand  against  the  donkey 
without  somehow  feeling  a  soft  kind  hand  pulling 
him  back ;  and  in  time  (it  was  very  odd),  but  he 
found  the  donkey  went  as  well  for  good  words  as 
for  bad. 

Then  Master  Hugh  used  to  go  out  with  him  in  the 
boat,  and  in  return  for  what  Toby  taught  him  of 
fishing  and  boating,  offered  to  teach  Toby  to  read. ' 
And  Toby  used  to  say  in  a  eurly  way  that  "he  didn't 
mind  trying ;"  not  that  he  or  his  mother  saw  much 
good  in  it,  but  he  didn't  like  to  vex  Master  Hugh. 
And  Master  Hugh  made  him  learn  many  good  words 
out  of  the  Bible,  and  although  he  heeded  the  words 
little  then,  they  came  back  afterwards,  and  often 
were  just  the  end  of  the  rope  which  kept  his  soul 
above  water.  But  the  great  lesson  that  got  into  his 
heart  from  Hugh,  Toby  thought,  was  that  goodness 
and  mercy  are  not  the  mere  softness  and  ornament  of 
women,  but  the  strength  of  men. 

But  all  this  time,  his  own  life  was  rough  and  dark 
enough  ;  their  cottage  had  always  been  a  refuge  and 
plotting-place  for  wreckers  and  wild  characters  of 
various  kinds.  Often  when  Toby  as  a  boy  lay  in  bed 
in  the  inner  chamber  on  stormy  nights,  he  had  heard 
eager  voices  discussing  the  harvest  likely  to  be  reaped 
from  the  tempest,  the  chances  of  wrecks  on  various 
points  of  the  coast,  and  the  hope  of  prizes,  as  eagerly 
as  if  the  poor  tossing  ship  had  been  freighted  with 
no  human  lives,  and  worked  by  no  trembling  human 
hands,  but  charged  with  a  mere  inanimate  cargo  of 
merchandise  for  their  especial  benefit.  Toby  said 
some  of  their  words  haunted  him  to  this  day.  "  She's 
making  straight  for  the  rocks."      "  Couldn't  you 


310  THE  DIARY  OF 

help  her,  Granny,  by  a  little  friendly  light  in  the 

window  ?"  "  She's  on  them  !"  "  Tliat's  a  bed  she's 
not  likely  to  rise  from  !''  *'  She  has  gone  down  like 
a  shot !"  or  "  She  makes  a  good  fight !"  ''  Fire 
your  guns,  there's  no  hand  to  help,  the  wind  '11  beat 
you  I"  "  Never-  mind ;  the  waves  '11  do  the  rest !" 
"  There  '11  be  a  godsend  for  some  lucky  folks  in  the 
morning  I" 

And  then  in  the  early  dusk  he  has  heard  mysterious 
rollings  of  casks  into  the  outhouse  by  his  bed. 

In  time  he  grew  up  to  take  his  share  in  the  watch- 
ing, the  w^ork,  and  the  spoils,  to  look  on  the  storms 
as  his  natural  harvest-field,  and  to  think  with  scarely 
more  tenderness  of  a  wreck  than  of  a  haul  of 
mackerel. 

The  crews  struggled,  he  reasoned  with  himself, 
and  so  did  the  fish.  Of  course  they  neither  of  them 
liked  it ;  but  ships  he  supposed  were  made  most  of 
them  to  be  wrecked  one  day  on  some  coast  or  other, 
just  as  fish  were  made  to  be  caught  in  some  net  or 
other ;  and  if  some  folks  must  be  better  for  it,  why 
not  theyl  There  was  indeed  a  dull  sense  of  the 
work  not  being  quite  as  harmless  as  fishing,  which 
prevented  his  ever  speaking  of  it  to  Hugh.  He 
knew  there  was  something  "  up  to  London,"  which 
objected  to  such  proceedings,  and  occasionally  came 
down  fiercely,  in  a  blundering  way,  on  some  unlucky 
poor  soul  or  other,  although  very  commonly  not 
on  the  worst  man,  or  when  he  was  doing  the  worst 
work. 

And  he  knew  there  was  also  something  somewhere 
up  in  heaven  which  shared  these  objections,  and 
also  in  a  blind  blundering  way  (lik«  a  great  water- 
wheel  if  you  get  entangled  in  it)  came  down  every 


3IRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  311 

now  and  then  on  soirc  chance  offender  and  hurt  or 
crushed  him. 

And  he  had  also  a  dim  notion  that  there  was 
some  mysterious  connection  between  this  great  de- 
structive and  avenging  something  and  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments. 

There  were  moments,  also,  when  the  dull  sense  of 
all  not  being  right  with  him,  which  made  him  afraid 
in  passing  lonely  burial-grounds,  or  in  the  dark  in 
strange  places,  or  at  any  strange  noises  in  familiar 
l^laces,  would  be  quickened  into  a  sharp  pain,  when 
on  the  bodies  of  the  drowned  was  found  some  linen 
marked  by  careful  hands,  or  some  little  fond  relic  or 
locket  containing  a  child's  or  a  woman's  hair,  show- 
ing that  the  dead  belonged  to  some  who  had  loved 
them  at  home,  a  pain  which  became  intolerable  after 
the  death  of  that  poor  drowned  sailor-lad,  whose 
face  he  never  could  forget. 

"  And  then,"  he  said, ''  came  Parson  Wesley,  preach- 
ing on  the  downs  not  far  away,"  and  made  him  feel 
that  the  something  which  was  against  him  in  heaven 
was  no  blind  machine,  but  the  living  God,  whose 
eyes  are  in  every  place  beholding  the  evil  and  the 
good,  and  searching  to  the  bottom  of  every  heart 
and  every  work ;  that  the  thing  God  is  against  is 
sin  ;  that  sin  is  in  great  part  doing  wrong  to  others, 
or  not  doing  them  the  good  we  could;  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  least  uncertain  in  His  ways,  but  the 
most  absolute  certainty  that  sooner  or  later,  but  in 
exact  proportion  to  the  sin,  will  come  the  punish- 
ment ;  that  the  most  terrible  things  that  can  happen 
to  wicked  men  on  earth  are  nothing  but  the  prick 
of  a  momentary  gnat-bite  to  the  gnawing  of  the 
worm  that  dieth  not ;  but  as  the  tingling  of  a  hand 


SiZ  THE  BURY  OF 

placed  for  an  Instant  too  near  the  fire,  to  being 
plunged  in  the  heart  of  the  flames  which  never  will 
be  quenched ;  "  tlw  fire  "  for  all  sinners,  "  thdr  worm  " 
for  each  ;  and  yet  that  the  most  terrible  agonies  of 
hell  are  the  agonies  that  begin  now  ;  the  gnawing  of 
hopeless  remorse  at  the  conscience,  the  sense  of  the 
presence  of  God,  from  whom  we  cannot  escape,  and 
whom  we  dare  not  approach,  who  holds  us  full  in 
His  searching  gaze,  and  through  His  eyes,  which  we 
cannot  avoids  looks  down  our  eyes,  wJiich  we  cannot 
veil,  into  the  black  spots  in  our  hearts,  which  He 
knows,  and  we  know,  which  we  cannot  cover  or 
wash  out,  and  which  He  abhors.  "  And  that  was 
how  I  felt,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Toby,  "  when  you  came 
to  see  Mother,  and  heard  me  moaning  in  the  chamber 
inside." 

"  But  that  is  changed  now,"  Mother  said. 

"  Yes,  Missis,"  said  Toby  solemnly,  "  my  sin  is  the 
same.  I  think  I  hate  it  more,  it's  seldom  out  of  my 
sight.  King  David  says,  '  My  sin  is  ever  before  me,' 
and  I  find  him  pretty  right.  And  the  eyes  of  the 
living  Lord  are  on  me  searching  me  through  and 
through,  it  seems  to  me  deeper  and  deej)er  'most 
every  day  ;  and  I  can't  avoid  them  any  more  than  I 
could,  but  thank  the  Lord,  I  douH  want  to.  There's 
the  difference, — I  don't  want  to.  I  wouldn't  be  out 
of  the  sight  of  His  eyes  for  the  world." 

"  And  what  helped  you  thus  at  last  ?"  said  Mother. 

"It  was  mostly  the  hymns,"  said  Toby  ;  "  fii*st  the 
Bible  and  then  mostly  the  hymns,  for  they  are  the 
Bible  for  the  UKst  part,  only  set  to  music,  like,  so 
that  it  rings  in  your  heart  like  a  tune.  It  was  the 
hymns,  and  what  they  said  at  the  class-meetings. 
Before  I  went  to  class,  and  heard  what  they  had  to 


MRS.    KITTY  TBEVYLYAK  813 

say  there,  I  thought  I  was  all  alone,  like  a  castaway 
on  a  sandy  shore  under  a  great  sheer  wall  of  cliffs — 
a  narrow  strip  of  sand  which  no  mortal  man  had  ever 
trod  before,  and  which  the  tide  was  fast  sweeping 
over  bit  by  bit.  To  spell  out  the  hymns  in  the  book 
by  myself  was  like  finding  footprints  on  the  sands, 
and  that  was  something.  It  made  me  feel  my  trouble 
was  no  madness,  as  poor  Mother  called  it ;  no  mad 
dream,  but  leaking  up  from  the  maddest  dream  that 
could  be.  It  made  me  see  that  others  had  felt  as  I 
felt,  and  struggled  as  I  was  struggling,  and  got  througJi. 
But  when  I  went  to  the  class  and  heard  them  sing  the 
hymns,  it  was  like  hearing  voices  on  the  top  of  the 
cliffc  cheering  me  up,  and  pointing  out  the  way.  Our 
class-leader  is  no  great  speaker,  but  he's  got  a  won- 
derful feeling  heart,  and  a  fine  voice  for  the  hymns, 
and  it's  they  that  has  finished  Parson  Wesley's  work, 
and  healed  the  wound  he  made : — 

" '  Depths  of  mercy,  can  there  be, 
Mercy  still  reserved  for  me  ?" 

That  was  the  first  which  settled  down  in  my  heart.  I 
couldn't  listen  any  further,  and  I  couldn't  get  that  out 
of  my  head  for  days,  until  another  took  its  place : — 

*'  *  Jesu  1  let  thy  pitying  eye, 

Call  hack  a  wandering  sheep ; 
False  to  thee,  like  Peter,  I 

Would  fain  like  Peter  weep. 
Let  me  be  by  grace  restored. 

On  me  be  all  long-suffering  shown: 
Turn  and  look  upon  me,  Lord^ 

And  break  my  heart  of  stone. 

•*  *  For  thine  own  compassion's  sake, 
The  gracious  wonder  show  ; 
Cast  my  sins  behind  thy  back. 
And  wash  me  white  as  snoi» . 

27 


314  THE  DIARY  OF 

If  thy  bowels  now  be  stirred, 

If  now  I  would  myself  bemoan. 
Turn  and  look  upon  m«,  Lord^ 

And  break  my  heart  of  stone, 

•*  *  Look  as  when  thy  languid  eye 

Was  closed  that  we  might  live ; 
*'  Father"  (at  the  point  to  die 

My  Saviour  gasped),  "  Forgive  I*' 
Surely  with  that  dying  word, 

He  turns,  and  looks,  and  cries,  '**Ti8  donel" 
OA,  iny  bleeding,  loving  Lord, 

Thou  break' 8t  my  heart  of  stone  /•' 

"  That  hymn,"  Toby  said,  "  seemed  to  put  a  new 
picture"  in  his  heart.  Instead  of  the  pale  face  of  the 
poor  lad  lying  lifeless  on  the  sands,  which  had  lately 
haunted  him  night  and  day,  another  countenance  rose 
before  him,  pale  and  all  but  lifeless,  but  with  the  hol- 
low eyes,  large  with  pain,  fixed  in  the  tenderest  pity 
on  him.  He  understood  that  "  God  was  in  Christ 
reconciling  the  world  unto  himself. "^"^  He  felt  that  it  was 
the  face  of  the  Judge  that  looked  so  tenderly  on  him 
from  the  cross ;  that  suffering  beyond  any  he  had 
ever  dreaded  had  been  borne  for  him  by  the  Lord 
himself,  made  sin  for  him.  And  he  felt  he  was  for- 
given. 

Then  all  day  his  heart  seemed  bursting  with  the 
joy  of  reconciliation,  and  he  was  singing, — 

**  Thee  will  I  love,  my  joy,  my  crown. 
Thee  will  1  love,  my  Lord,  my  God, 

Thee  will  I  love,  beneath  thy  frown 
Or  smile,  thy  sceptre  or  thy  rod : 

What  though  my  flesh  and  heart  decay. 
Thee  shall  I  love  in  endless  day." 

Everywhere  that  dying  face  of  his  Saviour  seemed 
beaming  on  him  in  the  fullness  of  pity  and  love,  and 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLTAN.  815 

those  words,  '•''"'Tis  done!  Father^  for gimV  filled 
all  the  world  with  music.  He  could  see  or  hear 
nothing  else. 

"  And  now  V  said  Mother. 

"  Now,  Missis,"  said  Toby,  "  I  see  all  things  once 
more,  as  they  are ;  but  it  seems  as  if  everything  were 
changed  inwardly,  though  the  outside  is  the  same. 
The  curse  is  taken  out  of  everything.  Even  that 
poor  dead  lad's  face,  I  see  it  now,  and  I  am  not 
afeared.  For  it  seems  to  say,  '  Not  to  me,  Toby,  it's 
too  late,  I  want  nothing ;  not  to  me^  but  to  all  the  rest, 
for  my  sake.  And  the  two  faces  seem  to  get  mixed 
up  in  my  mind.  Missis,  the  poor  drowned  lad's  and 
His ;  and  still  the  words  the  dumb  lips  speak  are  the 
same,  *  Not  to  Me^  all  is  well  with  Me ;  lut  to  aU  the 
rest,  for  My  sake,''  And  that,"  concluded  Toby,  '*  is 
what  I  live  in  hopes  it'll  be  given  me  to  do,  before  I 
die." 

"  How,  Toby  ?"  said  Mother. 

"  Wliy,  Missis,"  he  said,  "  I  watch  for  the  wrecks 
more  than  ever  I  did  in  old  times.  I  watch  for  the 
crews  as  I  never  watched  for  the  cargoes.  And  one 
of  these  days  it's  my  belief  the  Lord  '11  give  me  to 
save  some  of  them,  and  to  see  some  poor  lifeless  souls 
wake  up  to  life  again  up  there  by  mother's  fire.  And 
then  I  shall  feel  those  two  faces  smiling  on  me  up  in 
heaven,  the  poor  drowned  lad's,  Missis,  and  the 
blessed  Lord's  himself.  And  that  '11  be  reward 
enough  for  an  angel,  let  alone  that  an  angel  could 
never  know  the  shame,  and  the  sin,  and  the  bitter 
reproaches  in  my  heart  that  makes  it  like  heaven  to 
me  to  dare  to  look  up  in  His  face  at  all." 

"  And  meantime  ?"  said  Mother. 

"  Meantime,  Missis,"  said  Toby,  "  Parson  Wesley 


816  MRS,    KITTY  TRE7YLYAN. 

says  that  the  end  of  all  the  commandments  of  God  is 
love,  and  since  I  once  saw  that, — that  what  pleases 
the  Lord  is  for  us  to  be  good  and  kind  to  each  other, 
it's  wonderful  how  many  chances  I've  got  of  pleasing 
Him.     There's  hardly  a  day  without  them." 

And  as  she  rode  home  on  the  grey  pony  Mother 
said,  *'  Kitty,  our  Saviour  said,  '  The  last  shall  be 
first,'  and  I  think  I  never  understood  so  well  what  He 
meant  as  to-day.  As  I  left  that  poor  fellow's  cottage, 
with  the  open  Bible  on  the  window  ledge,  it  seemed 
to  me  as  sacred  as  a  church." 


X. 


yHE  post-mistress  at  Falmouth  will  begin  to 
think  me  quite  an  important  personage.  This 
morning  two  letters  arrived  for  me — one  from 
London  from  Jack,  and  another  from  New  York  from 
Hugh. 

Hugh's  letter  contains  a  kind  of  brief  narrative  of 
his  travels,  which  I  read  to  Father  and  Mother. 

It  also  contains  a  little  especial  piece  for  me,  which 
T  do  not  read  to  any  one. 

I  am  quite  surprised  to  find  what  large  towns  and 
what  a  number  of  people  there  are  in  the  American 
colonies. 

I  always  thought  America  was  a  kind  of  place  of 
exile  where  every  one  always  looked  unsettled,  as  if 
they  were  only  staying  there  for  a  short  time,  and 
-where  things  were  always  at  a  beginning.  I  never 
thought  of  people  being  really  at  home  there.  Of 
course  it  was  a  foolish  thought.  Hugh  says  some  of 
the  towns  are  a  hundred  years  old,  and  some  of  the 
houses  looked  quite  venerable. 

Hugh  went  through  a  great  deal  of  Ireland  on  foot 
on  his  way,  and  took  ship  at  Cork.  During  his 
wanderings  he  lodged  in  the  little,  dirty,  smoky 
Irish  cabins,  or  wherever  he  could  find  shelter,  and 
preached  in  all  kinds  of  wild  places,  or  in  crowded 


^18  TUE  DIARY  OF 

Btreets,  wherever  he  could  find  people  ready  to 
listen. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  writes,  "  the  poor  peasants  at  fii*st 
took  me  for  a  new  kind  of  mendicant  friar,  and  seemed 
rather  disappointed  when  at  the  end  of  my  sermon  I 
did  not  proceed  to  beg.  Their  warm  Irish  hearts  are 
easily  touched— tears  and  r',cssings  pour  forth  readily 
(as  also  on  other  occasions  curses).  The  spontaneous 
responses  are  strange  enough  at  times.     As  I  read  the 

*  prodigal  son,'  a  voice  cried  out,  *  By  all  the  saints 
that's  me ;'  or,  on  some  home-thrust,  in  angry  tone, 

*  What  traitor  then  told  you  that  of  Pat  Blake  V  per- 
haps accompanied  with  a  handful  of  mud ; — or  oftener, 

*  Holy  Mary,  mother  of  God,  pray  for  us  miserable 
sinners ;'   or,  *  Sweet  Jesus,  have  mercy  on  us  I'  or, 

*  By  the  mass,  that's  true.'  I  try  to  speak  of  the  love 
of  God  to  men,  and  the  sacrifice  of  the  Cross,  and  of 
the  joy  of  God  in  welcoming  the  returning  sinner, 
and  of  the  joy  of  the  forgiven  child ;  and  those  truths 
which  we  hold  in  common  with  the  church  of  Rome, 
although,  unhappily,  too  much  as  the  green  meadow 
where  Daisy  feeds  has  a  common  soil  with  the  bare 
patch  beyond  it,  which  the  tinners  have  covered  with 
destructive  rubb^'sh.  It  is  more  and  more  amazing 
to  me,  the  more  1  see  of  the  world,  to  find  to  what  an 
extent,  and  by  what  an  infinite  variety  of  means,  the 
enemy  has  contrived  to  bury  out  of  sight  the  great 
life-giving  truth  that  God  is  love  and  loves  the  world 
— that  He  has  redeemed  us  at  infinite  cost — that  His 
one  command  to  us  is  to  return  to  Him  and  be  wel- 
comed and  blessed,  and  find  the  joy  we  were  made 
for  in  serving  Him. 

"  Sometimes,  however,  my  reception  is  very  differ- 
ent.    The  reputation  of  the  new  heresy  of  Methodism 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  819 

has  gone  before  me.  *  SwaddUrs '  is  the  term  of  re- 
proach here  taken  up  by  the  ignorant  mob,  from  a 
sermon  preached  by  Job  Cennick  on  the  text,  *  She 
took  the  babe  and  wrapped  it  in  swaddling  clothes, 
and  laid  it  in  a  manger.'  In  such  cases  the  whole 
population  rise  together,  especially  the  women,  and 
vociferate  and  curse  as  I  think  only  Irish  voices  can, 
until  they  are  tired,  and  give  me  a  hearing  from  sheer 
exhaustion,  or  until  they  excite  themselves  to  a  fury 
ready  for  any  violence,  and  pelt  me  out  of  the  i)lace. 
"  In  Cork  the  excited  mob  attacked  the  *  Swad- 
dlers '  in  the  streets  with  clubs  and  swords,  wounded 
many  dangerously,  and  began  to  pull  do^vn  one  of 
their  houses.  In  spite  or  in  consequence  of  this  per- 
secution, nowhere,  Mr.  Wesley  says,  have  there  been 
more  living  and  dying  witnesses  of  the  power  of  re- 
ligion than  at  Cork.  Already  Methodism  has  had 
more  than  one  martyr  in  Ireland.  Persecution  draws 
the  persecuted  together  with  a  wonderful  strength 
of  affection.  It  is  not  the  mobs  we  have  to  dread  as 
the  worst  hindrance  to  religion  in  Ireland ;  it  is  the 
excitable,  variable  spirit  of  the  people  themselves,  so 
easily  touched  and  so  easily  turned  aside.  And  Mr. 
Wesley  says  the  lifeless  Protestants,  who  hate  Chris- 
tianity more  than  they  do  Popery  or  Paganism,  are 
the  worst  enemies  of  the  gospel  in  Ireland.  But  the 
excitement  of  speaking  to  an  Ii'ish  audience  is  great. 
The  quick  comprehension  of  any  illusion,  the  quick 
response  in  the  expressive  faces  to  every  change  in 
your  own  emotions,  are  very  exhilarating,  after  thcj. 
slower  and  heavier  masses  of  our  Saxon  countrymen. 
Yet  to  see  an  English  multitude  once  really  stirred  to 
the  heart,  is  a  sight  which  moves  me  more  deeply  than 
anything.     It  is  like  the  heaving  of  the  great  sea  on 


820 


THE  DIARY  OF 


our  own  coasts.  Those  great  massive  waves  do  not 
easily  subside,  and  rocks  crumble  before  their  steady 
power  like  sand-banks. 

"  Charles  Wesley's  hymns  have  immense  power  in 
Ireland.  There  is  a  strange  story  of  a  bitter  perse- 
cutor at  Wexford  hiding  himself  in  a  sack  in  a  bam 
where  the  persecuted  Methodists  assembled,  with  the 
doors  shut  for  fear  of  the  people.  He  intended  to 
open  the  door  to  the  mob  outside.  But  in  his  hiding- 
place  the  singing  laid  such  hold  on  his  heart,  that  he 
resolved  to  hear  it  through  before  he  disturbed  the 
meeting.  After  the  singing,  the  prayer  laid  hold  on 
his  conscience,  and  he  lay  trembling  and  moaning  in 
the  sack,  to  the  great  alarm  of  the  congregation,  who 
thought  it  was  the  Devil.  At  length  some  one  took 
courage  to  open  the  sack,  and  there  lay  the  persecutor, 
a  weeping  penitent.  His  heart  had  really  been 
reached,  and  his  conversion  proved  permanent. 

"  Thus  again  and  again  the  hymns  lull  the  jealous 
sentinels  of  Prejudice  to  sleep,  and  leave  the  fortress 
of  Conscience  open  to  the  assaults  of  the  Truth. 

"  I  have  only  once  myself  encountered  a  really  fu- 
rious mob.  I  had  been  speaking  to  an  attentive  crowd 
in  an  open  space  in  the  middle  of  a  town.  Some  had 
been  moved  to  tears,  and  the  general  attention  had 
been  profound.  AVhile  I  spoke,  I  had  observed  the 
keen  eyes  of  one  old  woman  intently  fixed  on  me  with 
an  ominous,  searching  gaze.  When  I  finished  with 
prayer  and  a  hymn,  her  eyes  suddenly  flashed  into 
rage,  and  she  exclaimed  in  a  shrill,  piercing  voice, 
*  Where^^  your  Hail  Mary,'' 

The  change  in  the  audience  was  as  if  a  spell  of 
witchcraft  had  been  cast  on  them.    Loud  cries  and 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  32i 

deep  curses  suddenly  poured  forth  against  tlie  here 
tic,  the  deceiver ;  stones  and  sticks  began  to  fly  from 
all  sides  around  me. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  experience  to  find  yourself  thus 
suddenly  face  to  face  with  an  angry  mob,  every  mem- 
ber of  which  is  a  human  being  with  a  heart  like  your 
own,  capable  of  pity  and  kindness,  and  physically  no 
stronger  than  yourself;  but  which  altogether  is  a 
fierce,  inhuman  monster,  capable  of  tearing  you  in 
l)ieces,  with  no  more  difl&culty  and  no  more  j)ity  than 
a  hungry  lion.  It  is  a  trial  to  courage  to  feel  your- 
self, with  all  your  strength  of  manhood,  helpless  as 
an  infant  in  the  grasp  of  hundreds  of  men,  no  one  of 
whom,  perhaps,  could  make  you  yield  an  inch.  But 
it  is  a  far  sorer  trial  to  faith  and  love  to  find  hun- 
dreds of  your  fellow-men,  and  even  of  women,  no  one 
of  whom,  perhaps,  alone,  would  refuse  you  help  and 
shelter,  transformed  into  a  dreadful,  merciless  mon- 
ster, with  the  brain  of  a  man,  the  heart  of  a  wild 
beast,  and  the  strength  of  the  sea  in  a  storm. 

"  To  me  the  danger  seemed  lost  in  the  sorrow.  It 
was  like  having  a  glimpse  into  hell,  thus  to  have 
unveiled  before  me  the  terrible  capacities  for  evil  in 
the  heart  of  man,  which  make  it  possible  for  men  to 
be  transformed  into  a  mob. 

*'  The  danger  was  soon  over,  for  (I  know  not  how) 
a  division  arose  among  my  assailants ;  they  began 
fighting  among  themselves,  and  I  escaped  with  a 
graze  or  two  on  my  forehead. 

"  But,  Kitty,  it  was  not  until  I  had  spent  more 
than  one  night  in  prayer,  it  was  not  until  I  recollected 
another  mob,  which  accom])li8hed  its  purpose^  until  once 
more  above  such  a  sea  of  cruel,  mocking,  inhuman, 
human  faces,  I  had  seen  by  faith,  One  sublime,  suffer- 


0»»  THE  DIARY  OF 

ing,  human  Face  uplifted,  divine  in  unruffled  love 
and  pity ;  until  once  more  by  faith,  I  had  heard  those 
tones  faltering  with  pain,  but  unfaltering  in  compas- 
sionate love,  *  Father,  forgive  them ;  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do.'  It  was  not  till  then  that  I  could 
take  heart,  and  hope  to  go  forth  once  more  with  the 
message  of  pardon  and  grace.  But  then^  I  think  I 
never  gave  the  message,  I  am  sure  I  never  felt  it  with 
half  the  power  before. 

"  And  then  I  recollected  yet  another  mob  which 
also  accomplished  its  purpose,  mercilessly  pelting  its 
victim  with  stones  until  he  '  fell  asleep,'  and  what  oiu 
of  that  merciless  mob  became.  Such  possibilities  of 
good  are  there  even  in  hearts  out  of  which  fanaticism 
may  seem  to  have  scorched  all  humanity. 

*'  Here  in  America  I  have  found  no  mobs,  but, 
instead,  throngs  of  eager  listeners  ;  men,  women,  and 
children,  riding  scores  of  miles  through  forest  and 
wilderness,  and  encamping  in  the  open  country  for 
nights  to  hear  the  preacher. 

"  The  honored  name  here  is  not  so  much  Wesley's 
as  Whitefield's,  and  the  love  for  him  is  immeasurable. 
I  think  the  accents  of  this  apostle  from  our  country 
have  to  the  colonists  the  double  charm  of  novelty 
and  of  home.  There  is  still  much  aficctionate  rever- 
ence here  for  the  'old  country,'  although  I  think, 
with  many,  partaking  more  than  we  should  think 
flattering  of  the  reverence  for  old  age.  Perhaps  they 
have  as  little  idea  here  in  the  colonies  of  the  freshness 
and  youth  left  in  the  heart  of  the  old  country,  as  we 
have  in  England  of  the  manhood  and  strength  which 
hhe  new  country  has  attained. 

"  The  field  labor  in  the  warm  Southern  States  is 


3ri!S.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  328 

mostly  carried  on  by  black  slaves  imported  from 
Africa.  Some  of  the  simplest  and  most  fervent  con- 
verts are  among  these  negroes.  Susceptible  and  im- 
pressible even  more  than  the  Irish,  easily  moved  to 
tears  and  laughter,  their  circumstances  of  bondage 
(and  in  many  cases),  of  exile,  make  the  tidings  oifre^ 
grace^  of  a  Saviour  loving  black  and  white  alike,  and 
paying  the  ransom  for  all,  peculiarly  welcome. 

'*  The  first  missions  to  the  slaves  were  those  of  the 
Moravians  in  the  West  Indies.  And  there  have  been 
persecutions  there  for  Christ's  sake,  in  some  respects 
like  those  of  early  times,  bonds  and  imprisonments, 
*  cruel  mockings  and  scourgings,'  inflicted,  not  by 
mobs,  but  by  masters. 

"  These  diabolical  possibilities  of  cruelty  which  un- 
limited power  (whether  in  masters  or  mobs,  kings  or 
priests)  develops  in  the  hearts  of  men,  are  things  I 
dare  not  dwell  on,  except  on  my  knees. 

**  But  God  is  stronger  than  Satan ;  and  love  is 
mightier  and  more  enduring  than  malice. 

"  The  Cross,  not  the  Sanhedrim,  has  triumphed." 

:ic  ^  ^  4(  ^  H: 

"  P.  8, — I  have  seen  Tom  Henderson. 

"  He  has  been  successful  in  his  schemes,  and  is  on 
Ms  way  in  time  to  be  a  rich  man.  He  was  full  of 
magnificent  projects  of  returning  to  his  father's  house 
like  a  prince,  and  entreating  forgiveness  with  a  for- 
tune in  his  hands,  that  should  make  it  plain  he 
r.ought  forgiveness  for  its  own  sake  and  not  for  the 
sake  of  any  advantages  it  might  bring.  I  have  en- 
deavored to  persuade  him  that  his  duty  is  to  write  if 
not  to  go  home  at  once,  not  as  a  prince,  but  as  a 
repentant  runaway — '  )  throw  himself  on  his  father's 


tf24  TEE  DIAllT  OF 

forgiveness,  bear  his  reproaches,  and  help  him  in  any 
way  he  can. 

"  He  fought  against  this  very  much  at  first,  but  I 
told  him,  Kitty,  what  you  told  me  you  had  seen  of 
his  mother^s  grief,  and  had  suspected  of  his  father's ; 
and  I  can  perceive  it  is  working,  if  by  nothing  else, 
by  the  vehemence  and  testiness  with  which  he  meets 
my  arguments." 

Jack's  letter  is  very  brief  and  very  different  from 
Hugh's.  It  begins  a  little  bitterly,  alluding  dispar- 
agingly to  some  former  friends,  especially  to  one 
young  gambling  nobleman  Cousin  Evelyn  warned  us 
against.  He  has  found  them  out,  he  says,  and  al 
though  his  reliance  on  human  nature  has  sustained 
a  shock,  and  although  (as  he  writes  emphatically)  he 
will  never  be  able  to  understand  the  pretensions  to 
gentlemanly  diaracter  of  people  who  live  on  the 
fnendliest  terms  with  you  as  long  as  your  purse  is 
full,  and  cannot  see  you  across  the  street  when  you 
happen  to  be  in  want  of  a  little  assistance  ; — still  he 
has  no  doubt  the  wheel  of  fortune  has  yet  its  good 
turn  for  him.  But  in  the  postscript  his  tone  changes 
from  these  rather  cynical  reflections  to  the  most 
sanguine  anticipations.  He  has  found,  he  says,  a 
mine  of  gold,  in  the  shape  of  a  company  for  farming 
the  mines  in  Peru,  where,  as  he  observes,  the  Sj^an- 
iards  found  the  half  civilized  natives,  centuries  ago, 
eating  off  silver,  and  drinking  out  of  gold.  And  if 
these  simple  natives  with  their  poor  implements  con- 
trived to  extract  such  untold  icealth  from  merely 
Bcratcliing^  as  it  were,  the  surface  of  the  earth,  what 
may  not  Englishmen  in  the  Eighteenth  Century  dis- 
cover by  penetrating  into  its  heart  f    The  secretary, 


MRS,  KITTY  TREVYLYA2T.  825 

he  says,  who  has  suggested  these  'cery  obvious  conclu- 
sions to  a  hitherto  marvellously  Minded  public,  is  a 
wonderfuUy  clever  fellow,  and  his  particular  friend. 
He  is  appointed  under-secretary,  good  names  being 
of  great  value,  he  says,  in  the  commencement  of 
such  enterprises,  and  already  he  has  received  a 
hundred  pounds  as  the  first  instalment  of  his  salary. 

In  the  second  postscript  he  adds,  that  the  sale  of 
his  commission^  now,  of  course,  with  such  lyrilliant 
prospects^  useless  to  him ;  especially  since  the  war  is 
over,  and  there  is  no  honor  to  be  won^  and  no  service 
to  be  rendered  the  country^  has  brought  him  in  a 
trifle  to  meet  his  more  pressing  debts.  So  that  (he 
adds,  considerately)  we  need  not  have  an  anxious 
thought  of  his  trifling  liabilities^  which  are,  indeed, 
already  all  but  discharged. 

"  Poor,  dear  fellow,"  said  Mother,  with  a  sigh,  as 
she  laid  down  the  letter ;  "  he  is  always  full  of  kind 
intentions." 

Father  was  out  when  the  letters  arrived,  and  he 
did  not  read  them  till  to-day.  I  never  saw  him  in 
such  a  passion  as  Jack's  letters  put  him  in. 

'•'' Brilliant  prospects^  indeed,"  he  said,  "to  be  the 
servant  of  a  beggarly  trading  company !  '  Good 
names  P  too  good,  at  least,  to  be  dragged  through 
the  mire  by  a  set  of  scoundrelly  swindlers,  ji'^'c  like 
the  South  Sea  Bubble." 

Irritated  more  and  more  by  his  0>vc  indignant 
words,  he  first  attacked  Jack,  next  himself,  and 
finally  Mother  and  me.  He  said  we  had  all  been  a 
eet  of  doting  idiots,  and  that  the  only  way  to  have 
saved  Jack  would  have  been  to  have  let  him  have 
his  own  way  from  the  first,  and  go  to  sea.  It  had 
been  an  instinct  of  self-preservation  in  the  lad,  and 
28 


»»D  THE  DIARY  OF 

we  were  all  more  to  blame  than  he.  Now  he  had 
been  crossed,  everything  had  gone  wrong.  But  it 
was  too  late  now.  He  would  go  to  Falmouth  the 
next  morning,  have  the  old  place  put  up  to  auction, 
take  the  first  sliip  that  sailed  for  the  colonies,  and  so 
be  out  of  hearing  when  Jack  came  to  the  gallows, 
for  there  it  would  end  ;  nothing  short  of  that,  there 
could  be  no  doubt." 

At  first  Mother's  tears  fell  fast,  while  I  was  too 
frightened  to  cry ;  but  afterwards  I  saw  Mother 
growing  whiter  and  whiter,  until  at  last  her  tears 
quite  dried,  and  she  sat  quite  still  with  steady  eyes 
and  compressed  lips,  and  her  hand  pressed  firmly  on 
her  heart.  Then  I  burst  into  tears,  and  knelt  beside 
her,  and  took  her  hands  in  mine  and  sobbed  out, 
^'  Oh,  Father,  look,  look,  see  what  you  are  doing." 
He  stopped  in  the  full  current  of  his  wrath,  looked 
at  Mother,  stooped  and  kissed  her  forehead,  and  said 
in  a  husky  voice, — 

*'  Polly,  I  am  a  brute.  I  always  have  been  ;  and 
you  are  an  angel.  Don't  take  it  so  to  heart.  You 
know  I  don't  mean  half  I  say.  There,  the  boy's  a 
kind  fellow  after  all.  It  '11  all  come  right ;  be  sure 
it  will.  I'm  ten  times  as  good-for-nothing  as  he  is. 
Polly.  Cheer  up  sweetheart.  The  wild  oats  must 
be  sown.  Jack  'II  be  an  honor  to  the  old  name 
yet." 

But  words  cannot  heal  the  wounds  words  can 
make.  Mother  did  not  say  a  bitter  word  or  shed  a 
tear ;  but  I  do  not  like  her  look. 

All  day  she  has  been  moving  gently  about,  saying 
cheering  words  to  us  all,  especially  to  Father,  who  is 
as  subdued  and  gentle  as  she  is.  But  her  face  lias 
had  an  unnatural  fixedness,  and  when  I  kissed  her 


31  RS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  827 

^u(>J-night  ill  the  porcli-closet,  she  folded  me  in  her 
arms  and  said, — 

"Kitty,  darling,  indeed  I  would  not  have  kept 
him  from  sea,  if  I  had  been  sure  his  heart  was  set 
on  it.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  selfish  ;  but  oh, 
Kitty,  God  knows,  I  would  have  given  up  seeing  him 
again  all  my  life  to  do  him  good.  Poor  Jack !  God 
forgive  me !  Yet,  Kitty,  it  cannot  be  too  late  !  Say 
you  do  not  think  it  can  ?" 

There  was  something  in  that  child-like  appeal  to 
me  which  pierced  my  heart  more  than  if  I  had  seen 
her  sob  in  auguish. 

But  she  did  not  shed  a  tear.  Her  eyes  were  dry 
and  blight,  and  I  tiied  to  keep  my  voice  quite  firm 
and  cheerful,  as  I  said, — 

"  Of  course,  it  is  not  too  late,  Mother.  TVe  will  have 
him  back  to  us.  He  shall  take  up  the  farm  again 
vv^ith  Father ;  and  they  will  get  on  so  much  better 
than  they  ever  did  before.     You  will  see." 

She  shook  her  head ;  but  she  smiled,  as  if  a  faint 
hope  began  to  dawn  in  her  heart ;  and  I  said, — 

*'  Mother,  it  is  7iever  too  late.  We  can  pray  for 
him  night  and  day.     And  that  must  help  him." 

But  as  I  sit  down  here  alone,  my  own  heart  sinks, 
and  sinks  below  the  worst  fears  Father  expressed  in 
his  anger. 

What  ever  will  make  Jack  understand  about  ri</At 
and  wrong  f     Ob,  if  Hugh  were  only  here." 

Yet,  alas  !  if  Hugh  had  been  here,  could  he  ward 
off  all  evils  ?  Could  he  have  warded  off  one  of  thestj 
evils  from  those  he  loves  ? 

The  echo  of  my  own  words  brings  the  words  O'' 
another  sister  to  my  heart, — 


828  THE  DIARY  OF 

"If  TTwu  hadst  been  here,  my  brother  had  not 
died." 

He  could  have  been  there !  He  knew  all.  But  He 
kept  away.  The  sisters  drank  the  bitter  cup  to  the 
dregs.    The  brother  died. 

Then  through  the  anguish  came  the  deliverance 
and  the  unutterable  joy. 

I  will  trust.  I  will  never  give  up  trusting.  There 
is  reason.  "  The  same  yesterday,  and  to-day,  and  for 
ever." 

We  have  passed  through  a  storm  of  trouble  since 
I  wrote  last.  For  weeks  I  have  not  had  heart  to  write 
a  word,  if  I  had  had  time. 

Have  we  got  tTirough  the  storm  ?  Are  we  on  dry 
land  once  more  ?  This  trembling  and  anxiety,  and 
restless  expectation  of  something  worse,  is  it  only 
like  the  uncertainty  and  giddiness  one  feels  when  one 
steps  on  dry  land  after  a  rough  Toyage  ?  Or  are  we 
still  on  the  waves,  and  is  this  only  a  temporary  lull  ? 

The  day  after  Father's  reading  that  unhappy  letter 
of  poor  Jack's,  Mother  tried  to  rise  as  usual,  and 
come  down  stairs ;  but  she  fainted  whilst  dressing ; 
and  Betty  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  lift  her  into  the 
bed  again,  so  heavily  did  her  slight  frame  lie  in  our 
arms  in  its  helpless  unconsciousness. 

Father  was  distracted  with  alarm  when  he  came  to 
breakfast,  and  heard  that  Mother  was  ill.  He  would 
not  touch  a  morsel  of  food,  but  saddling  a  horse  j  t 
once  galloped  off  to  Falmouth  for  the  doctor. 

When  the  doctor  came.  Mother  was  better,  and 
made  so  light  of  her  ailments,  that  he,  himself  a  stout, 
florid  little  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  never  been 
ill  in  his  life,  persuaded  us  we  had  all  been  unneccs* 


MRS.  KITTY  TBEVYLYAm  829 

sarily  alarmed.  "A  momentary  suspension  of  the 
action  of  the  heart,  a  slight  disturbance  of  the  circu- 
Lilion,  would  frequently  bring  on  consequences,'*  he 
said,  "  of  the  most  alarming  kind.  Of  the  most 
alarming  kind,  Mr.  Trevylyan,  to  the  uninitiated ! 
There  is  a  slight  flushing  and  trembling.  Sometimes, 
in  ordinary  cases,  I  would  have  recommended  bleed- 
ing or  a  blister ;  but  your  good  lady  seems  not  quite 
in  a  state  to  bear  much  additional  loss  of  strength. 
This  evening  I  will  send  an  especial  messenger  with 
an  electuary,  of  which  I  had  the  prescription  lately 
from  the  surgeon  of  a  Spanish  ship.  I  have  no  doubt 
we  shall  be  well  enough  to  do  anything — to  ride  after 
the  hounds  if  we  please.  Captain  Trevylyan,  in  a 
week  or  two.  A  generous  diet,  and,  above  all,  cheer- 
ful conversation,  such  as  I  am  sure  (he  concluded, 
making  a  bow  to  me)  cannot  fail,  my  dear  young  lady, 
with  you  for  the  nurse.  Above  all,  cheerfulness.  The 
first  and  last  ingredient .  in  all  my  prescriptions  is 
cheei-fulness.  Life  is  not  long  enough,  with  all  our 
science,  Mr.  Trevylyan ;  with  all  our  science,  life  is 
not  long  enough  for  care." 

And  the  rosy  doctor  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
cheerily  away,  leaving  Father,  Betty,  and  me  in  very 
different  states  of  mind. 

''  A  very  sensible  man,"  said  Father;  "  a  veiy  skill- 
ful and  penetrating  man.  Kitty,  you  see  we  must 
cheer  up." 

And  going  up  to  Mother's  bedside,  he  said, — 

"  My  dear,  the  doctor  gives  us  the  most  cheering 
accounts.  In  a  few  days  you  will  be  as  usual ;  in- 
deed, perhaps,  better  than  ever.  It  really  seems  quite 
a  blessing,  Kitty,"  he  said  to  me,  as  he  took  his  long- 
delayed  breakfast,  "  that  your  Mother  had  this  little 
28* 


830  THE  DIARY  OF 

attack.  It  may  be  her  restoration,  quite  her  restora- 
tion. That  doctor  has  such  a  quantity  of  life  in  him 
he  seems  to  put  it  into  his  patients." 

But  Betty  took  a  very  different  view,  and  a  very 
j^loomy  one.  She  would  do  nothing  but  shake  her 
head  ominously,  except  when  she  launched  out  into 
an  attack  on  the  medicine  recommended  by  the  Span- 
ish doctor,  who,  she  had  little  doubt,  was  sent  ex- 
pressly by  the  Pope  or  the  King  of  Spain  to  murder 
as  many  English  folks  as  he  could  in  a  quiet  way. 
*'  Not,"  she  concluded,  "  that  I  think  medicine  has 
much  to  do  with  poor  dear  ^Rlissis,  one  way  or  the 
other." 

So  I  went  back  to  Mother's  chamber  to  look  as 
cheerful  as  I  could,  with  my  heart  full  of  a  ter- 
rible dread,  of  which  Betty's  tokens  were  but  the 
echoes. 

All  day  the  flush  in  Mother's  face  deepened,  and  no 
effort  of  mine  could  keep  her  from  talking  with  an 
eager  rapidity  quite  unlike  herself,  of  having  Jack 
back  to  us,  and  how  bright  we  would  make  the  old 
home  for  him,  and  how  this  was  the  turning-point, 
and  all  would  soon  be  well.  *'  For  you  know  it  is 
not  too  late,  Kitty,"  she  kept  saying.  "It  is  never 
too  late." 

Fathei  kept  restlessly  hovering  about  the  house  all 
day,  occasionally  coming  in  with  a  gentle  step,  and 
saying  some  pleasant  word  to  her.  And  at  meals, 
those  desolate  meals,  he  repeatedly  said  to  me, — 

"  You  must  not  be  so  anxious,  child.  You  have 
Reen  so  little  of  illness.  You  take  on  too  much.  The 
doctor  said  there  is  nothing  to  alarm  any  one  who 
understands  the  matter,  nothing  in  the  least  alarm- 
ing ;  and  whenever  I  go  in,  Kitty,  she  is  quite  cheery, 


MRS.  KITTY   TREVYLYAN.  831 

Kitty,  quite  clieery.     There  is  nothing  to  be  anxious 
about." 

And  then  he  would  rise  with  his  food  scarcely 
tasted,  and  go  to  the  door  and  whistle  for  Trusty, 
and  come  back  in  a  minute  to  assure  me,  with  more 
vehemence  than  ever,  there  was  nothing  to  be  anxious 
about,  nothing  at  all ;  and  to  beg  me  to  keep  up 
heart,  and  look  very  cheery  in  Mother's  chamber. 

But  when,  as  night  came  on.  Mother's  eyes  seemed 
to  grow  brighter  and  larger  than  ever,  and  her  utter- 
ance more  rapid,  and  at  last  instead  of  those  sanguine 
eager  plans  about  Jack,  she  began  to  talk  about  all 
kinds  of  trifles,  and  at  length  I  crept  out  to  tell  Fa- 
ther I  was  sure  she  was  not  belter,  and  he  came  in, 
and  she  asked  him  eager  rapid  questions  about  things 
she  did  not  care  about  in  the  least,  I  shall  never  for- 
get the  look  of  anguish  which  came  over  his  face. 

"  Oh,  Kitty,"  he  said,  when  I  came  down  aftisr- 
wards  and  found  him  sitting  by  the  untasted  supper 
with  his  face  in  his  hands,  "  Oh,  Kitty,  I  have  killed 
her." 

After  that  we  were  obliged  to  keep  him  away  from 
her  room.  His  presence  seemed  to  excite  her  so 
j)ainfully.  Again  and  again,  when  I  left  the  room 
for  anything  during  that  night,  I  found  him  standing 
listening  at  the  door  with  hushed  breath,  and  a  face 
haggard  and  sunken  as  if  he  had  been  watching  *  for 
nights. 

It  was  a  dreadful  time.  Mother's  dear  gentle  voice 
raised  to  that  unnatural  eager  tone,  saying  things  that 
were  no  thoughts  of  hers,  demanding  replies  to  all 
kinds  of  wild  questions, — with  the  knowledge  that 
that  other  dear  despairing  face  was  watching  at  the 


382  THE  DIARY  OF 

door  outside,  and  that  every  one  of  those  quick  un- 
natural tones  was  piercing  his  heart. 

In  the  morning  when  I  came  out  of  the  room  he 
was  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  with  Trusty 
sitting  bolt  upright  beside  him.  Father  laid  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder  with  questioning  looks,  which 
he  did  not  dare  to  put  in  words,  while  the  x)oor 
faithful  old  dog  licked  my  hand  with  a  little  p^er- 
plexed  whine.  There  was  something  in  his  old  kind 
familiar  ways  which  broke  the  spell  of  unnatural 
calm  to  which  the  excitement  had  kept  me  strained, 
and  I  laid  my  head  on  Father's  shoulder  and  wept. 

"  Poor  little  Kitty,"  he  said, ''  my  poor  little  maid  !'* 
and  we  went  down  to  the  hall  together,  while  Betty 
stayed  in  Mother's  room. 

After  that  Betty  took  us  all  in  hand,  and  reigned 
as  I  suppose  the  most  capable  people  always  will  for 
a  time  when  there  is  a  storm,  and  every  one  feels  in 
danger. 

I  made  a  faint  proposition  that  we  should  send  again 
for  the  doctor,  chiefly  because  I  thought  the  ride  to 
fetch  him  would  be  the  best  thing  for  Father. 

But  Father's  confidence  in  the  cheery  man's  skill 
was  broken,  and  Betty  decidedly  prohibited  any  such 
expedition. 

"  There  be  strange  tales,"  she  said,  *'  of  folks  that 
live  on  the  lives  of  other  folks.  I  don't  say  I  believe 
them  altogether,  but  I  can't  abide  his  double  chii; 
and  his  round  fat  face ;  nor  I  believe  can  Missis." 

"  But  the  ride  might  do  Father  good,  I  said. 

"  I  don't  see  folks  have  any  right  to  go  imposing 
on  grown  up  people  as  if  they  were  babies,"  said 
Betty.  "  Poor  dear  Missis  was  too  much  that  way 
herself  always,  and  if  Master  musn't  go  into  the 


MES.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  833 

room,  and  can't  be  kept  from  hovering  about  the 
door  like  a  ghost,  the  best  thmg  is  to  make  him  of 
some  use." 

So  Father  was  appointed  carrier ;  and  now,  many 
a  time,  it  was  as  difficult  to  bear  as  Mother's  wander- 
ing words  to  see  him  creeping  up  and  down  stairs 
without  his  shoes,  carrying  little  cups  and  trays  as 
laboriously  as  if  they  had  been  tons  weight,  with  his 
efforts  not  to  let  a  drop  be  spilt  or  a  spoon  jmgle. 

Betty's  treatment  was  very  simple.  She  let  dear 
Mother  have  what  she  liked,  and  do  whatever  she 
thought  would  make  her  most  comfortable. 

"  It's  my  belief  tliey  Iniow  oft-times,  Mrs.  Kitty," 
she  said  to  me  mysteriously,  "  what's  good  for  them. 
And  if  not,  God  Almighty  only  can  keep  the  life  in 
any  of  us,  and  in  my  opinion  we've  no  right  to  make 
them  more  wretched  than  they  need  be." 

Therefore,  contrary  to  all  rules  I  ever  heard  of, 
when  dear  Mother  seemed  oppressed  for  breath, 
Betty  opened  the  window  and  let  the  sweet  fresh  air 
in,  and  when  she  complained  of  thirst  Betty  brought 
her  cool  fresh  water. 

On  the  third  night  she  insisted  on  sending  me  and 
Father  to  bed. 

"You  can't  work  miracles,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
*  and  the  Almighty  doesn't  see  fit  to  work  them  now- 
a-days.  And  if  you  sit  up  gazing  at  Missis  another 
night,  you'll  be  as  bad  as  she  is,  and  that'll  be  more 
of  a  handful  than  I  can  manage." 

So  at  last,  on  the  condition  that  I  should  have 
!RIother  all  to  myself  on  the  following  night,  while 
Betty  rested,  and  with  the  solemn  promise  that  I 
should  be  called  instantly  if  Mother  asked  for  me,  I 
went  to  my  chamber. 


834 


THE  DIARY  OF 


How  hard  it  was  to  turn  from  those  dear  wander- 
ing unt  onscious  eyes !  To  close  the  door  between  ns 
seemed  Hke  rolling  the  stone  before  a  sepulchre.  I 
should  have  turned  back  by  as  irresistible  an  attrac- 
tion as  that  which  draws  a  poor  bird  with  clipped 
wings  down  to  the  earth  from  which  it  struggles,  but 
for  the  knowledge  how  the  opening  of  the  door  made 
that  fragile  frame  start  and  tremble,  and  how  eagerly 
she  looked  for  that  unknown  something  any  sound 
seemed  always  to  rouse  her  to  expect.  I  did  not 
expect  to  sleep  for  a  moment. 

Yet  after  I  had  laid  down  and  had  begun  a  prayer 
for  Mother,  comforting  myself  with  the  thought  I 
could  help  her  in  that  way,  the  next  thing  I  waf 
conscious  of  was  the  quiet  dawn  stealing  up  through 
my  casement,  and  a  sound,  not  in  my  ears,  but  in  my 
heart,  of  these  words,  ''  I  shall  not  die  hut  live^  and  de- 
clai'e  the  works  of  the  Lord^ 

I  rose  up  and  looked  around  towards  the  window. 
Everything  was  so  still  in  that  sacred  calm  of  early 
morning,  that  I  think  it  would  not  have  surprised 
me  to  catch  the  glistening  of  the  white  garment  of  an 
angel  going  up  through  the  still  pure  air  beyond  the 
old  thorn,  beyond  the  old  elms,  beyond  the  green 
hill,  beyond  that  soft  grey  cloud  into  the  pure  light 
of  the  dawn,  pure  as  if  it  streamed  through  the  gates 
of  pearl. 

But  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  nothing  to  tell 
whose  whisper  that  was  which  was  echoing  softly 
through  my  heart  when  I  woke. 

For  it  teas  a  Voice,  I  am  sure,  a  heart  and  spirit 
speaking  to  mine  ;  so  distinct,  so  outside  me  were  tlie 
words,  and  yet  so  mysteriously  within. 

They  lingered  in  my  heart  with  a  power  beyond 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLTAK  885 

that  of  any  music,  and  filled  it  with  an  unspeakable 
rapture  of  calm  and  peace. 

So  I  rose  and  dressed,  and  said  my  morning- 
prayers,  looking  out  of  my  open  window. 

Those  words  seemed  to  have  taken  all  fluttering 
and  hurrying  haste  and  terror  from  me. 

I  said  to  myself, — 

*'  I  will  not  be  superstitious — I  will  not  build  my 
hopes  on  signs,  or  omens,  or  even  on  these  words. 
Oh,  my  Saviour,  my  Father,  I  will  build  on  nothing 
but  Thy  love.  But  yet  I  will  not  put  away  the  com- 
fort of  those  words  from  me.  They  are  Thy  words, 
and  whatever  else  they  mean,  they  mean  love.  And 
I  will  lean — I  will  rest — I  do  lean  and  rest  my  whole 
heart  and  soul  on  that — on  Thee." 

It  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  whole  being  had  been 
bathed  in  a  well  of  living  water,  when  I  went  back  to 
Mother's  chamber,  so  fresh  it  felt,  and  strong.  At 
the  door  stood  Father  listening  as  if  he  had  been 
there  long.  I  stood  and  whispered  him  some  words 
of  comfort.  And  when  I  opened  the  door  so  noise- 
lessly that  Betty  did  not  turn  to  look,  and  crept  to 
Mother's  bedside,  she  Iool:ed  at  me.  She  looked  into 
my  eyes,  with  quiet  conscious  love,  she  stretched  out 
her  thin  hand  and  laid  it  in  mine ;  and  then  as  I  sat 
down  and  held  it  in  both  mine — afraid  to  show  too 
much  of  what  I  felt — the  feeble  grasp  relaxed,  her 
breathing  came  and  went,  evenly,  softly  as  a  child's. 
It  was  the  soft  even  breathing  of  sleep. 

She  slept  on  until  dawn  had  deepened  into  day, 
and  all  the  many  colored  changes  by  which  the  hours 
are  illuminated  and  distinguished  from  each  othei 
when  the  day  is  new,  had  passed  into  the  changeless 
radiance  of  mid-dav,  and  there  was  nothin^^  left  bv 


886  THE  DIARY  OF 

wMcli  to  mark  the  time,  but  my  own  hopes,  countmg 
every  minute  of  such  repose  as  a  priceless  treasure ; 
and  my  fears  for  Father  watching,  ignorant  of  all,  at 
that  closed  door. 

At  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  Betty  who  had 
been  watching  her,  as  still  and  silent  as  I  had  been, 
rose  and  brought  her  some  jelly. 

And  then  she  asked  for  Father. 

There  was  no  need  for  me  to  call  him.  As  soon  as 
the  words  had  left  her  lips  the  door  opened  without 
a  sound,  and  his  poor  haggard  face  appeared,  in- 
quiring with  mute  touching  looks  what  he  ought 
to  do. 

I  rose  and  leu  ^^m  to  the  bedside. 

Mother  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  said, — 

"-  Dear,  I  shall  get  well." 

As  he  had  been  so  often  enjoined  by  Betty,  he  tried 
hard  not  to  betray  his  feelings,  but  just  to  look  quietly 
pleased,  as  if  it  was  just  what  he  had  hoped,  and  to 
say,  some  easy,  cheering,  natural  words.  But  the 
quiet  look  was  quite  a  failure  from  his  j^oor  sunken 
eyes,  and  mth  the  attempt  at  the  cheering  word,  his 
quivering  lips  failed  altogether,  and  with  one  pas- 
sionate sob  he  sought  to  withdraw  his  hand  from 
hers  and  leave  the  room. 

But  she  laid  her  other  hand  on  his,  and  he  had  no 
resource  but  to  fall  on  his  knees  and  bow  his  face 
over  her  hands,  and  weep  like  a  child. 

Betty  lifted  up  her  hands  in  horror,  but  when  she 
tried  to  speak,  her  voice  failed  too ;  so  she  turned 
away,  and  I  knelt  down  by  father,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  led  him  gently  away. 

It  was  not  till  Mother  was  sleeping  again,  and  we 
were  in  the  hall  together,  and  Betty  brought  in  the 


MRS,  KJTTY  THEVYLYAN.  337 

Slipper,  or  whatever  that  nondescript  meal  might  be 
called,  which  was  our  first  and  last  that  day,  that  she 
recovered  her  self-command  enough  to  say  in  answer 
to  an  apologetic  remark  of  Father's  concerning  his 
disturbing  Mother, — 

'*  Well,  Master,  I  don't  see  that  there's  much  to 
choose  between  us  all  as  to  that  matter;  it  is  no 
doing  of  ours,  and  we've  nothing  to  boast  of,  if  the 
Almighty  has  seen  fit  to  work  a  miracle ;  for  that  it 
is  a  miracle  I  have  no  manner  of  doubt.  There  have 
been  signs  and  tokens  enough  to  prepare  anybody  for 
another  drowning  of  the  world,  and  we've  all  done 
our  best  to  kill  her ;  and  there's  Missis  sleeping  as 
innocent  and  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  !" 

Sweet  hallowed  nights  of  hopeful  watching,  when 
I  lay  awake  till  I  heard  her  breathing  fall  into  the 
even  cadences  of  sleep,  and  woke  to  hand  some  little 
nourishing  draught  or  refreshing  drink  to  her,  and 
to  hear  her  dear  voice  murmur  thanks,  or  perhaj^s 
some  sweet  old  verses  of  gratitude  from  her  beloved 
George  Herbert. 

Then  those  delicious  days  of  her  gradually  return- 
ing strength !  To  watch  day  by  day  the  precious 
little  steps  of  recovery !  It  was  like  watching  the 
leaves  ojjen,  and  the  flowers  in  spring,  each  day  being 
a  new  delight ;  only  the  life  whose  precious  tide  was 
slowly  rising  thus  from  point  to  point,  was  no  uncon- 
scious flood  of  natural  growth — it  was  Mother's  life  ! 

Then  that  first  Sunday  when  she  was  lifted  into 
her  own  little  x^orch-closet,  and  laid  on  the  couch  by 
the  window  !  She  had  insisted  on  being  lifted  there 
in  the  morning,  and  that  all  but  Betty  should  go 
to  church  ;  she  had  wanted  Betty  also  to  accompany 
us,  but  no  authority  in  the  house  reached  to  that. 
29 


338  THE  DIARY  OF 

As  I  left  her,  she  broke  out  agair.  into  Ifcrbert 
(which  is  her  music),  murmuring, — 

"  Christ  hath  took  in  this  piece  of  ground, 
And  make  a  garden  there  for  those 
Who  want  herbs  for  their  wound. 

"  Thou  art  a  day  of  mirth  : 

And  where  tlie  week-days  trail  aground, 

Thy  flight  is  liigher,  as  thy  birtli : 
Oh,  let  me  take  thee  at  one  bound. 

Leaping  with  thee  from  seven  to  seven  ; 

Till  that  we  both,  being  tossed  from  earth. 
Fly  hand  in  hand  to  heaven." 

With  such  holy  strains  echoing  in  our  ears,  and 
such  gratitude  in  our  hearts,  a  very  happy  walk  was 
Father's  and  mine  to  church  that  Sunday,  across  the 
corn-fields,  with  the  little  waves  dashing  against  the 
rocks  far  below. 

And  very  real  and  living  were  the  prayers,  and 
thanksgivings,  and  responses  of  the  service.  They 
seemed  just  as  if  they  were  a  new  song,  made  ex- 
pressly for  Father  and  me  that  morning. 

As  we  returned.  Father  said  to  me  confidentially, — 

*'  Kitty,  do  you  understand  that  poetry  of  Mr.  Her- 
bert's?" 

I  said,  "  I  thought  I  did,  and  that  I  liked  it." 

"  You  do  I"  replied  Father  despondingly ;  "  well,  1 
suppose  all  really  religious  people  do.  But  I  never 
could." 

When  I  sat  by  Mother  in  the  quiet  afternoon,  I  told 
her  something  of  what  Father  had  said,  and  she  told 
me  how  it  had  gladdened  her  as  she  lay  there  to  hear 
Betty  singing  hymns  in  her  dear  old  cracked  voice, 
as  &he  went  about  her  work, 

*'  I  am  afraid,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "•  I  have  been  toe 


MRS.    KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  3S9 

dainty  about  words  and  forms.  The  Loly  angels  no 
doubt  do  not  need  the  delicate  spices  of  quaint  fan- 
cies, to  make  the  true  prayers  and  praises  of  the 
j)oorest  sweet  as  incense  to  them.  I  felt  it  to-day  as 
I  lay  here,  and  found  the  smell  of  the  dewy  grass, 
and  the  new  mown  hay,  sweeter  than  any  perfume, 
and  the  sound  of  Betty's  Wesleyan  hymns  sweet  as 
the  singing  of  a  cathedral  choir.  Yet  still,"  she 
added  smiling,  "  my  own  thoughts  flowed  back  into 
the  channel  of  old  Herbert's  poetry,  and  I  sang  in  my 
heart, — 

*' '  My  joy,  my  life,  my  crown  1' 

My  heart  was  meaning  all  the  day ; 

Somejyhat  it  fain  wonld  say  ; 
And  stili  it  runneth  muttering  up  and  down. 
With  only  this,  '  My  joy,  my  life,  my  crown."' 

And  when  Father  joined  us,  she  made  me  read  to 
^him  the  hymn, — 

*'  O  dreadful  justice,  what  a  fright  and  terror 
Wast  thou  of  old. 
When  sin  and  error 
Did  show  and  shape  thy  looks  to  me, 
And  through  their  glass  discolor  thee  1 
He  that  did  but  look  up  was  proud  and  bold. 

"  But  now  that  Christ's  pure  vail  presents  the  sight, 
I  see  no  fears  : 
Thy  hand  is  white. 
Thy  scales  like  buckets  which  attend, 
And  interchangeably  descend, 
Lifting  to  heaven  from  this  well  of  tears. 

•*  For  where  before  thou  still  didst  call  on  me. 
Now  I  still  touch 
And  harp  on  thee, 
God's  promises  hath  made  thee  mine 
Why  should  I  justice  now  decline  ? 
Against  me  there  is  none  :  out  for  mc  much.*' 


840  THE  DIARY  OF 

Father  endeavored  to  look  pleased,  but  I  could  see 
that  he  was  much  perplexed.  Nor  was  his  cheerful- 
ness restored  until  I  repeated  to  him,  at  Mother's 
request,  Mr.  Charles  Wesley's  hymn, — 

*'  Hark  I  a  voice  divides  the  sky: 

Happy  are  the  faithful  dead, 
In  the  Lord  who  sweetly  die ; 

They  from  all  their  toils  are  freed. 
Them  the  Spirit  hath  declared 

Blest,  unutterably  blest: 
Jesus  is  their  great  Reward, 

Jesus  is  their  endless  Rest. 

"  Followed  by  their  works  they  go 

Where  their  Head  hath  gone  before! 
Reconciled  by  grace  below, 

Grace  had  opened  Mercy's  door : 
Justified  through  faith  alone. 

Here  they  knew  tlieir  sins  forgiven, 
Here  they  laid  their  burden  down. 

Hallowed,  and  made  meet  for  heaven. 

"  Who  can  now  lament  the  lot 

Of  a  saint  in  Christ  deceased  ? 
Let  the  world,  who  know  us  not, 

Call  us  hopeless  and  unblest : 
When  from  flesh  the  spirit  free, 

Hastens  homeward  to  return. 
Mortals  cry,  '  A  man  is  dead'— 

Angels  sing,  'A  child  is  born.'  " 

In  the  evening,  when  Father  and  I  were  alone,  ne 
asked  me  what  I  thought  Mr.  Herbert  meant  by  that 
poetry. 

I  repeated  to  him  the  text,  ''  Wliom  God  hath  set 
forth  to  be  a  propitiation,  through  faith  in  Ilis  blood, 
that  He  might  be  just,  and  the  justifier  of  him  that 
believeth  on  Jesus."  *'  I  suppose  that  is  what  Mr. 
Herbert  meant.  Father,"  I  said. 

"  Then  if  he  meant  that,"  replied  Father,  rather 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN;  Mt 

testily,  "wliy  couldn't  lie  say  it?  Religion  is  good, 
and  riddles  are  good  ia  their  way,  but  I  don't  see  the 
good  of  mixing  them  up  together.  I  shall  never  he 
able  to  understand  the  pleasure  of  twisting  the  Bible- 
texts  into  a  puzzle  for  the  sake  of  untwdsting  tliera 
again.  It's  rather  hard  on  me,  Kitty,  for  I've  taken 
more  pains  than  I  can  tell  to  like  that  stuff  for  your 
Mother's  sake.  However,  Mr.  Charles  Wesley  's  been 
a  great  friend  to  me  with  his  hymns.  It's  a  great 
mercy  for  me  that  I've  fallen  on  times  when  a  man 
may  hear  sermons  as  easy  to  make  out  as  command- 
ing orders,  and  religious  poetry  as  plain  as  prose." 

I  little  thought  that  hymn  of  Herbert's  would  so 
soon  come  into  use  as  an  apology  for  Mother. 

The  Monday  after  that  Sunday  which  was  such  a 
great  high  day  to  us,  Betty,  coming  down  in  the  dusk, 
and  going  to  the  dairy,  fell  over  the  stable-bucket, 
which  Roger  had  left  in  the  way,  and  broke  her  leg. 
The  Falmouth  doctor  came  at  once  and  set  it,  and 
says  it  is  not  at  all  a  difficult  or  serious  case. 

But  Betty,  never  having  had  an  illness  which  pre- 
vented her  moving  about  in  her  life,  grimly  sets  the 
cheery  doctor  at  defiance,  and  takes  it  for  granted 
that  she  is  dying. 

"  And  it's  a  comfort  to  me,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said  to 
me  this  evening,  "  to  think  I  am.  Leastways  a  com- 
fort in  some  ways.  It  '11  be  a  warning  to  Roger  as 
long  as  he  lives,  that's  one  thing ;  for  if  I've  told  him 
once,  about  leaving  the  bucket  in  the  way,  and  said 
it  would  be  the  death  of  some  one,  I've  told  him  so 
scores  of  times  ;  and  now  he'll  see  that  I  told  him  the 
truth.  That  is  one  thing,  Mrs.  Kitty ;  and  another 
is  the  signs  and  tokens.  They'll  all  be  made  plain, — 
29* 


843 


THE  DIARY  OF 


the  pulling  of  bells,  the  howling  of  the  dog,  poor  fool, 
und  all.  And  I'm  mortal  glad,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  contin- 
ued, "  that  it's  me  after  all,  and  not  Missis."  Here  her 
voice  faltered,  and  she  hesitated  a  minute  before  she 
went  on,  and  said, "  I  may  as  well  speak  out,  Mrs.  Kitty. 
It's  my  way,  and  maybe  you  won't  be  troubled  with  me 
or  my  ways  much  longer.  I'm  mortal  glad  it's  me 
and  not  Missis,  Mrs.  Kitty,  because  of  the  assurance, 
tlie  inward  witness  in  the  heart.  I  got  it,  my  dear, 
last  year.  And  one  day  when  Missis  was  ill,  poor 
lamb,  and  I  asked  her,  she  said  she  hadn't.  So  it's 
better  I  should  be  taken  first." 

At  first  I  felt  a  flush  of  indignant  surprise  that 
Betty  could  possibly  think  herself  more  ready  to  go 
to  heaven,  than  Mother ;  but  gentler  thoughts  came 
as  soon  as  I  looked  at  the  poor,  kind,  rugged  face, 
dowTi  which  a  few  tears  were  trickling  slowly,  not  I 
knew  from  pain ;  and  I  said  as  steadily  as  I  could, 
"  Betty,  you  surely  don't  mean  that  you  are  more  fit 
to  meet  God  than  Mother  is  ?" 

*'  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  it's  the  inward  witness. 
Poor  dear  Missis,  when  I  spoke  to  her  about  it,  I'm 
not  even  sure  if  she  knew  what  I  meant.  It's  God's 
gift,  my  dear,  and  He  gives  freely  to  the  poorest 
sinners.  Better  than  Missis  ?  I  might  as  well  think 
I'm  better  than  an  angel.  But  I've  got  to  feel  my 
sins  are  forgiven,  my  dear,  and  I'm  afraid  Missis  has 
not.  And  there's  the  tokens ;  so,  if  the  Almighty 
would  take  me  instead  of  her, — I'm  a  cross,  cantank- 
erous old  woman,  my  dear,  at  best,  and  can  never 
look  for  anything  but  quite  an  under-place  in  heaven 
if  the  Lord  spares  me  ever  so  long.  So  I'd  as  lief  go 
at  once." 

Then  as  I  looked  at  her  as  she  turned  her  face 


MRS.  KITTY  TI^EVYLYAK,  343 

away  t*^  hide  the  tears,  like  an  old  Spartan  as  she  is, 
my  heart  bowed  down  before  her,  and  I  would  have 
knelt  to  her. 

She  would  have  died  for  any  of  us  with  joy,  to 
gain  us  time  to  be  made  more  ready  for  heaven,  or  to 
win  us  a  higher  place  there. 

For  some  time  I  could  scarcely  speak.  And  then 
I  remembered  that  hymn  of  Herbert's  on  God's 
justice,  and  said  part  of  it  to  Betty  (explaining  as  I 
went),  where  he  says  to  Justice, — 

*'  For  where  before  thou  still  didst  call  on  me, 
Now  I  still  touch 
And  harp  on  thee, 
God' s  promises  have  made  thee  mine : 
Why  should  £  justice  now  decline  ? 
Against  me  there  is  none,  but  for  me  much." 

And  I  told  her  how  dear  Mother's  eyes  had  glistened 
as  she  listened  to  those  words.  "Is  not  that  as- 
surance of  being  accepted  by  God  ?"  I  said. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  "it  do  sound 
cruel  like  it.  And  I  suppose  the  Almighty  must 
allow  folks  to  say  things  in  their  own  way ;  and  if  it 
isn't  as  plain  as  might  be — it  isn't  given  to  every  one 
to  speak  plain — and  the  Lord  can  understand — Mrs. 
Kitty,  my  dear,  the  Almighty  can  understand,  no 
doubt.  I  do  think  sometimes  we  are  like  lisping 
babes  before  Him  ;  and  if  we  don't  always  make  out 
other  folk's  lispings,  He  is  the  Father  of  us  all,  and 
no  doubt  He  can.  No  doubt  He  stoops  down  and 
listens  till  He  does  make  it  all  out ;  and  by  and  by, 
no  doubt.  He'll  teach  us  all  to  speak  jDlainer,  so  that 
we  may  understand  each  other.  Mrs.  Kitty,  my 
dear,"  she  concluded,  wiping  her  eyes  in  a  candid 
way  with  a  comer  of  the  sheet,  "  you've  given  me 


844  MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-. 

wonderful  comfort — ^wonderful  comfort,  and  the  Al- 
mighty bless  you  for  it,  my  dear." 

"  And  so,  Betty,  you  mustn't  lie  yet,"  I  said, 
smoothing  back  a  wandering  lock  of  her  grey  hair 
which  was  falling  over  her  eyes ;  "  you  must  do  your 
best  to  get  well.  "We  can't  spare  you,  any  of  us,  for 
a  long  time." 

"  That's  as  the  Almighty  pleases,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "we  can  all  be  spared  a  deal  easier  than  we  like 
to  think  when  His  time  comes.  But  there  1)6  the 
cows  and  the  pigs,  and  the  poultry,  and  the  butter, 
and  it  would  be  a  trial  to  leave  the  beasts  and  fowls, 
poor  fools,  to  nobody  but  Roger.  I  don't  deny  that 
it  would  ;  not  but  that  he  means  well,  and  didn't  set 
that  bucket  on  purpose  to  break  my  leg,  poor  soul, 
I've  no  doubt,  and  all  folks  can't  be  blessed  with 
brains.  But  if  I  do  get  over  it,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  con- 
cluded, "  don't  you  ever  say  it  was  the  doctor,  for  I 
couldn't  abide  it ;  and  if  anything  could  have  killed 
me  it  would  have  been  his  grinning  face,  clucking 
and  chuckling  away  like  an  old  hen  when  he  was 
nigh  driving  me  mazed  with  the  pain.  If  I  do  get 
well,  it  will  be  the  Almighty,  my  dear, — the  Al- 
mighty, and  you,  Mrs.  Kitty.  I  only  hope,  my  dear," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head  ominously,  "you're  not 
bom  to  trouble,  for  surely  the  Lord  gives  you  a 
wonderful  gift  of  cheering  and  nursing  folks,  and 
the  Almighty  don't  most  times  give  His  gifts  in 
vain." 


XL 

/rjHfHBEE  months  since  I  wrote  a  line  in  these 
iNp)  pages !  The  last  words  seem  faint  and  dis- 
tant, like  a  voice  across  a  chasm,  as  if  the 
earth  had  opened  beneath  my  feet  and  made  a  great 
gulf  between  me  and  the  day  when  they  were  writ- 
ten. 

Mother  had  recovered  wonderfully.  It  was  as  if 
some  lingering  malady  had  been  lowering  over  her 
life,  which  spent  itself  in  the  tempest  of  that  fever 
and  left  her  relieved  and  almost  refreshed,  like  the 
ajr  after  a  thunder-storm.  The  enforced  rest,  the 
duty  of  saving  and  considering  herself,  and  letting 
herself  be  taken  care  of,  had  no  doubt  much  to  do 
with  it. 

Also,  no  doubt,  there  was  a  merciful  hand  at  work, 
and  a  most  tender  Providence. 

One  day  Mother  and  I  were  sitting  sewing  at  the 
great  window  of  the  hall.  Betty,  although  limping 
a  little,  was  once  more  in  office  in  dairy,  and  kit 
chen.  Father  had  just  whistled  for  Trusty  and  was 
off  for  the  furthest  part  of  the  farm.  It  was  the 
stillest  part  of  the  day,  early  in  a  hot  afternoon. 
There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  trickling  of  the 
water  into  the  cattle-trough  in  the  court,  the  occa- 
sional buzzing  of  a  fly  against  the  window  or  the 


846  THE  DIARY  OF 

hum  of  a  stray  bee  settling  on  the  marigolds  and 
thyme  outside,  and  Betty's  yoice  humming  at  her 
work  in  the  kitchen  with  scarcely  more  variety  of 
intonation  than  the  bee. 

Mother  and  I  had  been  talking  of  Jack.  We  had 
written  to  him  some  time  since  begging  him  to  come 
back  to  us,  at  least  for  a  time,  saying  we  thought  the 
farm  was  becoming  too  much  for  Father,  that  the 
old  place  was  large  enough  for  us  all,  and  that  we 
were  all  longing  to  have  him  with  us  again,  and  then 
at  all  events  we  could  talk  over  his  future  plans  to-, 
gether. 

We  had  not  had  any  answer.  We  had  explained 
to  each  other  again  and  again  how  natural  it  was 
there  should  be  some  delay.  The  posts  were  so  irre- 
gular at  all  times,  and  although  Father  had  repeat- 
edly ridden  to  Falmouth  to  inquire  if  there  were  any 
letters  and  had  found  none,  there  were  endless  ways 
in  which  accidents  might  have  occuiTed  before  letters 
reached  Falmouth.  Besides  Jack  would  no  doubt 
have  many  things  to  arrange,  especially  if  he  decided 
on  coming  back  to  us ;  and  perhaps,  being  no  very 
ready  writer,  he  might  not  send  a  letter  at  all,  but 
bring  us  the  answer  in  person.  We  were  planning 
how  the  counti-y  might  be  made  less  dull  for  him, 
and  entering  into  all  kinds  of  arrangements  by  which 
we  would  make  home  bright  for  him  Q^artly,  I  be- 
lieve, to  persuade  oui-sclves  of  the  reality  of  our 
pleasant  picture  by  multiplying  its  details),  when 
suddenly  a  horseman  galloped  on  a  foaming  hoi*se 
into  the  courtyard,  making  the  old  walls  echo  and 
the  windows  vibrate  with  the  noise. 

Mother  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  I  suppose  I 
was  as  pale  as  she  was,  for  she  said, — 


MRS.  KITTY  trevylyan;  847 

"  Sit  still,  Kitty.     Let  Betty  see  wliat  it  is." 

Betty,  never  easily  hurried,  was  always  especially 
deliberate  when  she  thought  other  people  were  in  an 
unnecessary  bustle.  It  seemed  an  age  while  she 
stood  lecturing  the  horseman,  and  then  before  she 
limped  to  the  open  window,  and  gave  me  the  letter, 
muttering  that  some  folks  always  liked  to  make  a 
dash  at  the  end  of  anything,  and  finish  in  a  fume ; 
putting  themselves  and  other  folks  in  as  much  fuss 
as  they  could,  but  that  it  was  her  belief  such  hurry- 
scurry  w^as  most  times  only  a  cover  for  their  own 
dawdling. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear,"  she  con- 
cluded, catching  the  alarm  in  my  face,  "don't  look 
so  scared.  It's  only  a  servant  of  Sir  John  Beau- 
champ's  ;  nothing  but  some  fancy  of  Mrs.  Evelyn's, 
startling  folks  out  of  their  wits." 

"  Betty,  give  the  man  refreshment  and  ask  him  to 
stay  and  rest  as  long  as  he  can,"  said  Mother  quietly. 

And  Betty  retired. 

It  was  indeed  a  letter  from  Evelyn  to  me. 

It  began  with  tender,  soothing,  lingering  w^ords, 
tiuite  unlike  her  usual  way  of  dashing  into  the  midst 
of  things.  It  was  meant  to  "  break  the  news."  It 
only  threw  my  brain  into  such  a  bewilderment,  that 
when  I  came  to  the  news  my  heart  beat  and  my  head 
swam  so  that  I  could  scarcely  read  it.  But  when  I 
did  take  it  in,  I  was  calm  again  in  an  instant.  For 
I  could  only  think  of  Mother. 

I  stood  a  minute  afraid  to  look  at  her,  and  irreso- 
lute what  to  do,  when  she  said  softly, — 

"  Kitty,  don't  read  it,  tell  it  me.  I  know  quite 
well  it  is  not  good  news.     And  it's  about  Jack." 

I  looked  at  her.     She  was  sitting  with  her  hands 


848  THE  DIARY  OF 

clasped  as  if  in  prayer.  And  I  knelt  down  by  her 
and  whispered  (how,  I  can  never  remember,  for  the 
words  seemed  to  hiss  from  my  lips  like  some  one 
else's  voice),  that  Jack  had  done  something  for 
which  he  was  arrested,  and  was  in  prison  at  New- 
gate. 

"  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Go 
and  fetch  your  Father." 

Poor  Father  !  When  I  found  him,  and  told  him, 
he  never  uttered  a  word  of  reproach  against  Jack  or 
any  one.  He  said,  *'  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow,  I  was 
too  hard  with  him  !"  and  that  was  all.  We  walked 
home  across  the  fields  in  silence. 

When  we  returned  Mother  beckoned  to  us  from 
the  window  of  the  porch-closet.  Father  joined  her 
there.  I  remained  in  the  hall  below.  In  a  few  min- 
utes Mother  called  me,  and  I  went  up. 

*'  It  is  quite  plain,  darling,  w^hat  we  must  do,"  said 
Mother,  '*  it  is  a  great  mercy  it  is  so  plain." 

"  Father  and  I  must  go  to  him  at  once,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mother,  "  to-morrow."  And  she 
pointed  to  a  postscript  of  Evelyn's  letter,  which  in 
my  excitement  I  had  not  noticed,  and  in  which  she 
desired  us,  if  we  liked,  to  send  the  servant  home 
by  sea,  and  take  his  horse  to  ride  to  London  on  at 
once. 

Everything  was  arranged  before  dawn  the  next 
day. 

Father  was  to  take  his  own  horse,  and  I  the  man's. 
We  might  be  in  London  in  less  than  a  week,  and  have 
besides  the  great  comfort  of  making  the  journey  alone, 
not  exposed  to  the  questions  or  prying  looks  of  fel- 
low-passengers. 

Betty  was  too  thoroughly  one  of  us  not  to  know 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAy.  B49 

om  trouble,  at  least  as  far  as  that  Jack  wai*  in 
prison.  She  believed  it  was  for  debt ;  indeea  we 
scarcely  understood  ourselves  whether  it  was  for  that 
or  worse. 

All  night  she  was  up  making  provision  for  the 
journey,  insisting  that  I  should  keep  quiet  in  my  bed. 
In  the  morning  as  I  was  dressing,  she  said  in  a  rapid 
eager  way,  as  she  was  packing  and  pressing  my  things 
into  as  small  a  bundle  as  possible,  without  pausing  a 
moment  in  word  or  work  so  as  to  give  me  a  chance 
of  interrupting  her : — 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,  I've  put  five  guineas  in  an  old  stock- 
ing in  a  coiTier  of  the  bundle.  I  should  have  given 
them  to  Master  Jack  when  he  went  to  the  wars.  But 
mother  told  me  to  keep  them  for  my  burying,  and  I 
promised  I  would.  But  I've  been  thinking  well 
about  it,  and  I  don't  see  it  would  be  any  sin  to  break 
my  word. 

"  For  a  long  tim.e  I've  been  of  two  minds  about  it ; 
for  what's  the  use  of  a  fine  burying  to  me,  any  more 
than  to  the  rich  man  in  the  Bible  ?  Fine  buryings 
won't  keep  sinners  out  of  the  fire,  nor  will  the  sores 
of  the  poor  body,  nor  the  licking  of  the  dogs,  poor 
fools,  keep  off  the  blessed  angels  from  carrying  the 
soul  home.  When  I  die,  Mrs.  Kitty,  it's  my  wish 
that  the  class  members  should  carry  my  body  to  tbe 
grave  singing  Mr.  Wesley's  hymns,  while  the  angels 
are  carrying  my  soul,  singing  their  hymns.  Not  that 
I'm  altogether  sure,  Mrs.  Kitty,  the  angels  even  will 
be  wanted ;  for  heaven  seems  nearer  a  good  bit  now, 
since  the  Lord  died,  than  it  was  before  ;  and  maybe 
we  shall  step  into  it  all  at  once,  quite  natural,  witb- 
out  help  from  any  one.  But  that's  neither  here  no> 
there.  It  wasn't  the  burying  that  made  me  of  two 
50 


850  THE  DIARY  OF 

minds,  but  my  word  to  mother.  I've  prayed  many 
times  about  it ;  and  last  night  I  saw  it  all  as  clear  as 
the  sun.  It's  my  belief  that  we  are  to  do  as  we'd  be 
done  by,  by  the  dead  as  well  as  by  the  living.  And 
if  I  were  dead  and  had  got  any  one  to  make  a  foolish 
promise  like  that  I  should  think  it  the  greatest  kind- 
ness if  they  broke  it,  and  put  the  money  to  a  better 
use.  So  I  shall  do  the  same  by  mother,  Mrs.  Kitty. 
You  needn't  say  anything  to  Master  Jack  about 
what  I've  told  you.  But  it's  my  belief  mother '11 
be  smiling  on  them  guineas  from  heaven  if  she 
knows  about  it,  if  it  helps  Master  Jack ;  which  is 
more  than  she  could  do  in  conscience,  if  they  were 
spent  making  brutes  of  folks  on  rum  and  gin  at  my 
burying." 

So  saying  Betty  limped  down  the  stairs,  leaving 
me  sobbing  out  the  first  easy  natural  tears  I  had  shed 
since  the  dreadful  news  came. 

Mother  insisted  on  coming  down  to  breakfast  with 
us,  and  she  bid  me  good-bye,  while  Father  was  seeing 
to  the  bits  and  girths ;  she  looked  so  calm  and  cheer- 
ful, I  could  not  help  saying, — 

"  Oh,  Mother,  don't  keep  up  so.  You  will  break 
down  so  much  the  worse  when  we  are  gone." 

"  No,  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  not.  I  am  not 
keeping  up.  I  believe  I  am  Tcept  up.  I  cannot  un- 
derstand myself.  I  cannot  feel  hopeless  about  this. 
I  have  a  persuasion  not  like  persuading  myself,  but 
like  a  prophesy,  that  good  is  to  come  out  of  this  for 
Jack  and  all  of  us,  and  not  evil,  and  the  hope 
strengthens  me  to  pray  for  him,  as  I  never  prayed  for 
him  in  my  life." 

And  so  we  parted. 

It  was  certainly  a  comfort  that  the  rapidity  of  our 


MRS,  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-  851 

journey  depended  not  on  the  will  and  convenience 
of  indifferent  coachmen  or  sailors,  to  whom  we  could 
not  have  explained  our  terrible  reasons  for  haste  (and 
who  would  have  looked  on  our  trembling  eagerness 
to  get  on  merely  as  the  fussiness  of  a  fretful  old  gen- 
tleman and  of  an  impatient  girl),  but  on  our  own 
exertions  and  on  those  of  our  horses. 

How  the  noble  generous  creatures  seemed  to  catch 
the  infection  of  our  eagerness !  until,  for  their  own 
sakes,  and  for  the  sake  of  greater  speed  in  the  long 
run,  we  had  rather  to  restrain  them  than  urge  them 
on. 

I  only  remember  distinctly  two  incidents  of  that 
journey,  so  completely  were  we  absorbed  bj  its  pur- 
pose. 

One  was  on  a  fine  clear  morniQg  as  we  were  riding 
down  a  steep,  stony  hill  in  a  narrow  lane,  when  we 
saw  before  us  a  gentleman,  in  clerical  dress,  on  a  horse 
which  was  shambling  along  at  its  own  pace,  with  the 
reins  on  its  neck,  whilst  the  rider  was  reading  from 
an  open  book  laid  on  the  saddle  before  him. 

Father  was  so  impressed  with  the  peril  of  the 
proceeding,  especially  as  the  clergyman's  horse  made 
a  very  awkward  stumble  just  as  we  passed  him,  that 
he  took  off  his  hat,  and  said  to  the  stranger, — 

"  Sir,  you  will  excuse  an  old  soldier ;  but  I  should 
think  myself  safer  charging  a  battery  than  riding  in 
that  way  on  that  beast  of  yours." 

The  stranger  bowed  n  ost  politely,  said  something 
in  a  calm,  pleasant  voice  about  himself  and  the  horse 
understanding  each  other ;  but  as  he  thanked  Father 
for  his  advice,  his  face  quite  beamed  with  that 
cloudless  benevolent  smile  no  one  who  had  seen  it 
can  forget ;  and  I  saw  it  was  ]Mr.  John  Wesley. 


853  TUE  DIARY  OF 

Th)  second  incident  which,  stands  out  from  the 
dreaxj  mist  of  anxiety  which  hangs  about  that 
jourrej^,  happened  on  the  next  morning. 

It  was  not  five  o'clock,  and  still  rather  dusk.  AYe 
were  always  in  the  saddle  as  soon  as  we  could  see. 
But  ?t  the  end  of  the  town  we  were  leaving,  a  large 
crowd  was  already  gathered.  We  had  to  ride  through 
it,  and  I  never  liked  the  look  of  faces  in  a  crowd  less. 
Many  were  of  the  very  lowest  type,  dull  and  bruitish, 
or  fierce  with  a  low  excitement,  and  above  them  rose 
a  dreadful  black  thing  vdth  arms.  At  the  outsldrts 
of  tl/©  crowd  w^e  encountered  some  rough  jests.  But 
when  we  got  into  the  thick  of  it,  all  was  quite  still. 
Every  eye  was  riveted  on  one  spot,  and  every  ear  was 
li&t(ning  to  one  calm,  solemn  voice,  fervent  and  deep, 
but  always  natural  and  never  shrill  (he  held  it  a  sin 
to  V  '^ream) ;  and  before  we  came  in  sight  of  him  I 
kn*?  T  it  was  Mr.  John  Wesley  preaching. 

*'  €ome  on,  Kitty,"  said  Father,  in  a  low,  trembling 
yoh  >,  laying  hold  of  my  rein  as  I  jDaused  an  instant ; 
*'  c'/  n't  you  see  what  the  people  are  waiting  for  V 

1  looked  at  his  quivering  lips,  and  did  not  venture 
to  ask.  But  as  I  glanced  back  for  a  moment,  it 
flashed  on  me  what  it  was.  It  was  Mr.  Wesley 
preaching  to  a  crowd  collected  to  see  an  execution. 
That  terrible  black  thing  with  arms  was  the  gallows. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  respectful  kinchiess  with 
whdch  Uncle  Beauchamp  welcomed  Father  when  we 
reached  Great  Ormond  Street,  nor  his  tender  gentle- 
ness to  me. 

Aunt  Beauchamp  was  as  kind  in  her  way ;  but  she 
went  into  hysterics ;  which  was  perhaps  a  relief  to 
eveiy  one,  as  they  converted  her  into  an  invalid  vho 


MBS.  KITTY  trevylyan:  853 

must  be  kept  quiet,  and  left  Cousin  Evelyn  and  me 
free  for  each  other. 

Evelyn  explained  everything  to  me,  as  Uncle  Beau- 
champ  did  to  Father. 

Jack  was  in  Newgate ;  not  on  the  debtor's  side,  but 
worse. 

He  had  taken  some  money  from  that  Company, 
only  anticipating  his  salary,  he  said,  by  a  few  weeks, 
and,  of  course,  intending  to  replace  it.  But  the  law 
does  not  deal  with  intentions,  and  the  act  was  felony, 
and  he  had  to  stand  his  trial.  Uncle  Beauchamp 
and  Uncle  Henderson  had  engaged  the  best  lawyers 
to  defend  him,  and  Evelyn  said  they  assured  them 
there  was  much  hope. 

"  But  if  the  defence  fails,"  I  said,  looking  into 
Evelyn's  face,  "  what  is  the  penalty  ?" 

"  It  may  be  anything,  or  it  may  be  nothing,"  she 
said,  avoiding  my  eyes  with  an  evasiveness  quite  un- 
usual with  her,  "  the  law  is  so  uncertain,  every  one 


"  It  might  be  anything  P^  Evelyn  and  I  understood 
each  other,  and  we  said  no  more. 

Father  and  I  went  the  next  day  to  Newgate.  It 
was  arranged  that  we  should  each  see  Jack  alone  to 
spare  his  feelings. 

Grim  walls  with  windows  placed  so  as  to  let  in  as 
little  light  and  pleasantness  as  possible,  clanking  of 
chains  on  prison  bolts,  grating  of  clumsy  keys,  tlic 
careful  locking  behind  us  of  reverberating  iron  doors, 
and  through  all  a  sense  of  being  watched  by  curiousj 
prying  eyes,  and  then  the  dreadful  certainty  that  to 
so  many  these  cells  were  but  the  ante-chamber  to  a 
dishonored  grave,  made  me  feel  like  a  prisoner  my- 
30* 


354  THE  DIARY  OF 

self,  almost  like  one  buried  alive  myself,  ag)  I  stood 
alone  in  a  gloomy  little  room  with  barred  windows 
looking  on  a  dull  court,  trying  to  pray,  ti^^ing  to 
think  what  I  would  say  to  Jack,  but  unable,  try  as  I 
might,  to  do  anything  but  mentally  repeat  words 
without  meaning,  and  count  the  window-bars  and 
chimney-stacks ;  so  that  when  at  last  Father  came, 
and  I  was  led  into  Jack's  cell  and  left  alone  with  him, 
I  was  entirely  unprepared,  and  could  only  throw  my 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  sob  out  entreaties  that  he 
would  forgive  me  for  all  the  rough  and  cross  words 
I  had  ever  spoken  to  him. 

"Poor  little  Kitty,"  he  said  with  a  deej^  voice 
more  like  father's  than  his  own,  '*  my  poor  little  sis- 
ter, you  and  Father  are  both  alike,  not  a  reproach, 
not  a  complaint ;"  and  then  placing  me  on  a  chair, 
while  he  paced  up  and  down  the  cell,  he  said,  "  I 
did  think  he  would  have  been  in  a  passion,  Kitty, 
and,  I  am  sure,  I  wish  he  had  !  It  would  have  been 
much  easier."  Then,  after  a  pause,  in  a  tone  more 
like  his  own  old  easy,  careless  way,  "  It  is  the  most 
unlucky  thing  in  the  world.  I  am  the  most  unlucky 
man  in  the  world.  Only  three  days  and  my  salary 
would  have  been  paid,  and  everything  would  have 
been  right.  However,  one  must  never  look  on  the 
dark  side.  Something  may  turn  up  yet."  And  then 
he  asked  eagerly  all  that  the  lawyers  thought. 

I  said  they  seemed  to  have  much  hope  of  success. 

He  seized  at  this  in  his  old  sanguine  way,  as  if  s'lc 
cess  had  been  certain,  and  after  talking  some  time 
about  his  unluckiness,  he  concluded, — 

*'  But  you  know,  Kitty,  it's  a  long  lane  that  has  no 
turning.  I  always  knew  that  there  would  be  & 
change  of  fortune  for  me  some  day.     And  now  I 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAU:  855 

shouldn't  wonder,  if  it's  on  the  point  of  beginning ; 
for,  to  confess  the  truth,  they  were  rather  a  low 
money-making  set  after  all,  that  Company.  The 
secretary's  a  screw  and  a  perfidious  hypocrite  into 
he  bargain.  Although  not  exactly  in  the  way  one 
might  have  chosen,  I've  no  doubt  it  will  turn  out  a 
good  thing  in  the  end  to  have  done  with  them. 
And  as  to  any  little  hasty  words  you  may  ever  have 
said,  Kitty,"  he  concluded,  as  Ave  heard  footsteps 
approaching,  "  never  mention  such  a  thing  again. 
We  all  have  our  little  infirmities,  and  you  were 
always  the  best  little  soul  in  the  world." 

But  as  I  drove  back  with  Father  my  heart  seemed 
absolutely  frozen.  Here  were  we  all  breaking  our 
hearts  about  the  sin,  and  doing  what  we  could  to 
make  it  weigh  less  heavily  on  Jack.  And  his  con- 
science seemed  as  light  as  air.  He  seemed  to  have 
QO  conception  that  he  was  anything  but  unlucky. 

How  could  he  ever  be  made  to  understand  about 
ight  and  wrong  ? 

The  next  evening  Uncle  Beauchamp  came  to  me 

rom  an  interview  with  the  lawyers,  in  the  greatest 

perturbation.     They  said  Jack  would  not  enter  into 

their  line  of  defence,  and  it  seemed  doubtful  if  he 

could  be  got  to  plead  not  guilty. 

^'  You  must  go  and  talk  to  him,  Kitty,"  he  said, 
*  and  persuade  him.  If  any  one  can  you  will.  For 
as  to  myself,"  he  added,  "  people's  ideas  of  morality 
and  religion  seem  to  me  so  incomprehensibly  turned 
upside  down  since  the  Methodists  came  into  the 
world,  that  I  cannot  make  out  anybody  or  anything." 

So  next  morning  early  I  was  admitted  to  Jack's 
call. 


85i  TUE  DIARY  OF 

"  Uncle  Beauchamp  says  you  and  the  lawyers  can- 
not understand  each  other,  brother,"  I  said,  "  and  I 
have  come  to  see  if  I  can  be  of  any  use." 

"  The  lawyers  and  I  perfectly  understand  each 
other,"  said  Jack.  "  They  want  me  to  swear  to  a  lie, 
and  I  can't.  I  did  take  the  money  ;  and  if  my  only 
defence  is  to  swear  I  did  not,  why  then,  Kitty,  there 
is  no  defence,  of  course,  and  I  see  no  way  out  of  it. 
I  thought  they  would  have  found  some  other  way, 
but  it  seems  they  can't." 

I  felt  my  whole  heart  bound  with  a  new  hope  for 
Jack,  and  I  went  up  to  him,  and  took  his  hands,  and 
said  looking  up  in  his  face, — 

*'  You  would  rather  suffer  any  penalty  than  tell  a 
lie,  brother  ?" 

"  Of  course,  I  couldn't  swear  to  a  lie,  Kitty.  What 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"Thanlc  God!"  I  said;  and  I  could  not  help  burst- 
ing into  tears. 

Jack  paced  up  and  down  the  cell  a  minute  or  two, 
and  then  he  paused  opi)osite  to  me  and  said  very 
gravely,  "  Are  you  surprised^  Kitty,  that  I  will  not 
tell  a  falsehood?  that  I  will  not  perjure  myself? 
Did  you  think  I  icould  f  Did  you  think  because  I 
had  anticipated  a  few  days  the  salary  due  to  me  from 
a  set  of  beggarly  trades-fellows,  I  could  tell  a  delibe- 
rate lie,  and  take  a  false  oath  ?" 

"  Oh  Jack,"  I  said,  hiding  my  face  in  my  hands, 
*'  how  could  I  tell  I  since  you  took  what  did  not 
belong  to  you  ?     It  troubled  us  so  much  !" 

Jack  turned  from  me  angrily,  and  as  I  sat  leaning 
my  head  on  my  hands,  I  heard  him  pacing  hastily 
up  and  down.    And  then  after  some  minutes,  not 


2IRS,  KITTY  CREVYLTAK  357 

angrily  but  softly^  and  in  slow,  deep  accents,  very 
unlike  his  usual  careless  manner,  lie  said, — 

'*I  understand,  Kitty;  you  thought  if  your  bro- 
ther could  steal^  he  could  do  anything  else." 

"  But  you  will  not^  Jack  !"  I  said,  kneeling  beside 
hini.  "  You  will  not.  You  will  suffer  anything 
rather  than  do  what  you  feel  to  be  wrong — to  be  sin. 
Thank  God,  thank  God  r 

He  sat  for  some  time  quite  silent,  and  then  he  said, 
a  little  bitterly, — 

"  You  seem  very  thankful,  Kitty,  for  what  every 
one  might  not  think  a  very  great  mercy,  to  have  the 
way  cleared  to  the  gallows,  as  it  is  to  me.  I  suppose 
you  know  a  poor  woman  was  hanged  the  other  day 
for  stealing  sixpence ;  and  I  have  stolen  fifty  pounds. 
Do  you  think  Father  and  Mother  will  be  as  glad  as 
you  are  ?" 

"Oh,  Jack!"  I  said,  "you  Icnow  what  I  mean, 
you  feel  what  I  feel.  "We  will  move  heaven  and 
earth  to  get  you  set  at  liberty,  and  I  feel  such  a 
hope  that  we  shall  succeed.  I  feel  that  God  is 
on  our  side  now,  brother.  And  He  is  so  strong  to 
help." 

But  I  felt  that  if  we  succeeded  beyond  my  bright- 
est hopes  (and  I  was  full  of  hopes,  for  there  was 
prayer,  and  I  thought  of  a  plan),  I  think  I  shall 
never  know  a  truer  thrill  of  joy  than  that  morning  in 
Jack's  gloomy  cell,  when  he  chose  anything  rather 
than  do  what  he  felt  wrong. 

For  it  seemed  to  me  my  brother  was  then  for  the 
first  time  his  true  self,  the  self  God  meant  him  to  be. 
He  was  in  the  far  country  still,  in  the  country  of 
husks,  where  no  man  gave  him  even  husks ;  but 
might  I  not  hope  he  was  "coming  to  himself?"— 


858  THE  DIARY  OF 

that  the  sin  foreign  to  his  character  was  (as  Hugh 
once  said  it  might)  awakening  him  to  the  sin  habit- 
ual to  his  character,  which  was  indeed  Tiis  sin  f 

My  plan  was  at  first  regarded  as  exceedingly  wild 
by  every  one  but  Evelyn.  But  at  last  one  objection 
after  another  gave  way ;  and  Cousin  Evelyn  and  I 
were  suffered  to  drive  in  Aunt  Beauchamp's  coach 
to  the  residence  of  Elias  Postlethwaite,  Esq.,  Sec- 
retary of  the  Original  Peruvian  Mining  Company. 

Mr.  Postlethwaite  wore  beautiful  ruffles  and  very 
brilliant  jewels,  but  his  face  wanted  that  indescri()- 
able  something  which  makes  you  tirust  a  man,  and 
his  manners  wanted  that  indescribable  somethipg 
that  makes  a  gentleman.  He  received  us  with  most 
officious  politeness,  taking  it  for  granted  that  we  had 
come  for  shares  (many  fashionable  ladies,  Evelyn  said, 
having  lately  acquired  a  taste  for  such  go^mbling  as 
more  exciting  than  cards).  He  was  afraid  that  at 
present  not  a  share  was  to  be  purchased  at  any  price. 
The  demand  was  marvellous.  But  he  did  not  seem 
much  relieved  when  Evelyn  told  him  we  had  no  inten- 
tion of  investing  in  the  Company.  And  his  manner 
changed  very  decidedly  when  I  contrived  to  stammer 
out  the  object  of  our  visit. 

"  It  is  a  most  painful  business,  young  ladies,  a 
most  painful  business.  The  young  gentleman  was, 
moreover,  an  intimate  friend  of  mine.  I  thought  it 
would  have  been  an  openmg  for  the  poor  young 
fellow." 

I  pleaded  Jack's  youth,  I  j^leadcd  his  refusal  to 
plead  not  guilty,  I  even  pleaded  for  Father's  sake 
and  Mother's,  though  it  seemed  like  desecration  to 
make  them  anf.  their  sorrows  a  plea  with  that  man. 


IfRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAIT.  859 

But  he  could  not  be  moved.  He  said  it  was  exceed- 
ingly painful,  and  quite  against  his  nature,  but  there 
were  duties  to  the  public  which  young  ladies,  of 
course,  could  not  understand,  but  which,  at  any  cost, 
must  be  perfonned.  At  last  he  grew  impatient,  the 
boor's  nature  came  out  under  pressure,  and  he  re- 
marked with  a  sneer  that  those  kind  of  scenes  were 
very  effective  on  the  stage,  in  fact,  always  brought 
down  the  house  ;  but  that,  unhappily,  society  had  to 
be  guided  not  by  what  was  pretty,  but  what  was 
necessary.  In  conclusion  he  said  that,  in  fact,  it  did 
not  rest  with  him ;  the  Governors  were  susi)icious, 
and  had  found  fault  with  the  accounts  before,  and  it 
was  essential  an  example  should  be  made. 

Meantime  Evelyn  had  been  reading  (I  thought 
absently)  over  the  printed  paper  on  the  table,  de- 
scribing the  objects  of  the  company,  and  giving  a 
list  of  the  Governors,  and  at  this  moment  fixing  her 
fingers  on  two  or  three  of  the  principal  names,  she 
read  them  aloud,  and  said  calmly, — 

"  These  are  the  Governors,  Mr.  Postlethwaite  ; 
and  you  say  the  decision  rests  with  the  Governors. 
We  will  drive  to  their  houses  at  once.  Lord  Clinton 
is  one  of  my  Father's  most  intimate  friends." 

The  manner  of  the  Secretary  changed  again. 
*'  Lord  Clinton,"  he  said  nervously,  "  Lord  Clinton, 
madam,  knows  very  little  of  our  affairs.  In  fact,  he 
will  no  doubt  refer  you  back  to  me." 

"  We  will  see,  sir,"  said  Evelyn  coolly,  fixing  her 
calm,  penetrating  eyes  on  him. 

He  winced  evidently. 

"  Lord  Clinton,"  he  said,  pressing  his  forefinger  on 
his  forehead,  as  if  endeavoring  to  recollect  some- 
thing ;  "  ah,  I  remember,  there  was  a  little  mistake 


860  THE  DIARY  OF 

there,  a  little  mistake  Tvhich,  but  for  press  of  busi^ 
ncss,  should  have  been  corrected  long  ago.  Lord 
Clinton's  name  was  put  down  inadvertently,  without 
his  having  been  consulted." 

"Then  the  Hon.  Edward  Bernard,  or  Sir  James 
Delaware  will  do  as  well,"  said  Evelyn ;  *'  come, 
cousin,"  she  added,  rising,  "  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost.  I  suppose,  Mr.  Postlethwaite,  those  two  gen- 
tlemen w^ere  consulted  before  their  names  w^ere 
printed  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly  I"  he  re- 
plied. "  But,  excuse  me,  what  will  you  say  to  these 
gentlemen  that  they  do  not  know  already,  or  that 
I  could  not  explain  as  well,  and  save  you  the 
trouble  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  the  trouble  is  nothing,  Mr.  Postle- 
thv/aite,"  said  Evelyn  quietly.  *'  I  will  recommend 
these  gentlemen,"  she  continued  very  deliberately, 
"who,  you  say,  have  had  their  suspicions  roused 
about  the  accounts,  to  look  into  the  accounts  and  to 
see  if  no  other  victim  can  be  selected  for  the  office 
of  scape-goat  except  my  cousin,  Mr.  Trevylyan." 

His  keen  fox-like  eyes  quailed  visibly  before  her 
clear,  open  gaze. 

"My  dear  Madam,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "iMr. 
Trevylyan  is  your  cousin ;  your  cousin,  and  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  mine.  The  Governors,  I  confess,  are 
much  irritated,  but  we  must  not  too  easily  despair. 
Leave  the  matter  to  me,  and  we  will  see  what  can  bo 
done." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Evel}^ ;  "  if  you  ttUl  see 
what  can  be  done,  I  will  not.  You  will  let  us  know 
to-morrow." 


JIBS.  KITTY  TREVTLYAN.  861 

And  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  Mr.  Postlethwaite 
bowing  her  to  the  steps  of  the  carriage. 

"  What  do  you  think  will  be  the  end  of  it,  Eve- 
lyn V  I  said  when  we  were  alone  in  the  carriage,  for 
I  felt  very  much  bewildered. 

"  The  end  of  what  V  said  Evelyn. 

"  Of  this  terrible  affair  of  Jack's,"  I  said. 

"  I  cannot  see  quite  as  far  as  that,  sweet  little  cou 
sin,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  think  I  see  the  end  of  Mi 
Postlethwaite  and  the  Original  Peruvian  Company." 

"  And  the  prosecution  ?"  I  said. 

"  How  can  there  be  a  prosecution,  dear  little 
Kitty,"  she  said,  "when  the  prosecutor  is  hiding 
his  head,  for  fear  of  finding  himself  in  Jack's  place, 
and  when  the  Company  is  scattered  to  the  winds  ?" 

"  He  seemed  a  terribly  hard  man,"  I  said ;  "I 
never  saw  any  one  like  him  before,  Evelyn.  It  makes 
me  quite  shudder  to  think  of  him.  And  you  really 
thiak  the  whole  thing  was  a  deception  ?" 

"Well,  children,"  said  Uncle  Beauchamp,  when 
we  returned,  smiling  as  he  caught  Evelyn's  triumph- 
ant glance,  "  safe  out  of  the  lion's  den  at  all  events  ! 
I  thought  Kitty  was  to  have  brought  the  lion  him- 
self in  chains  of  roses,  like  a  fairy  queen  as  she  is. 
But  she  looks  as  if  she  had  suffered  in  the  encoun- 
ter," he  said,  kissing  my  cheek,  which  was  wet  with 
tears. 

"  Kitty  is  only  half-pleased,"  said  Evelyn.  "  She 
scarcely  knows  whether  to  rejoice  about  Jack,  or  to 
weep  over  the  wickedness  of  human  nature  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  Postlethwaite  ;  whereas  I,  on  the  other 
hand,  having  a  hard  and  impenetrable  heart,  scarcely 
know  whether  to  be  most  pleased  that  Cousin  Jack 
26 


862  THE  DTART  OF 

is  safe,  or  that  Mr.  Postletliwaite  is  not  safe.  I  al- 
ways have  thought  it  one  of  the  most  delightful 
prospects  held  out  to  us  in  the  Psalms,  that  the 
"wicked  are  to  be  taken  in  their  own  net.  But  to 
draw  the  net  tight  with  my  own  hands  was  a  luxury 
to  which  I  scarcely  dared  to  aspire." 

Then  she  narrated  the  interview.  Uncle  Beau- 
champ  assured  Father  and  me  that  all  would  be 
right ;  and  I  was  pennitted  to  go  at  once  to  Jack, 
and  tell  him  all  we  had  accomplished. 

Jack  was  very  thankful,  and  most  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate to  me ;  but  he  said, — 

"  Don't  think  me  the  most  ungrateful  fellow  in  the 
world,  Kitty ;  but  I  am  not  sure  really  after  all, 
whether  it  wouldn't  have  been  easier  on  the  whole  to 
have  been  sent  to  the  colonies,  or  even  put  out  of  the 
way  altogether,  than  to  have  to  meet  every  one,  and 
feel,  as  I  do,  that  I  have  been  the  most  selfish,  cow- 
ardly dog  in  the  world,  all  the  while  I  thought  my- 
self a  fine,  open-hearted,  generous  fellow.  And,"  he 
added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  I'm  not  sure  that  tliat  isn't 
easier  than  to  have  to  look  at  one's  self  as  I  have  had 
to  for  these  last  few  hours.  It's  a  terrible  thing, 
Kitty,  to  be  disgraced  in  your  own  eyes." 

"  Don't  talk  so.  Jack,"  I  said.  "  Say  what  you  will 
to  yourself  and  to  God,  but  not  to  me.  It  will  do 
you  no  good  ;  and  I  can't  bear  it.  You  don't  know. 
Jack,  how  good  and  noble  you  may  be  yet,"  I  said, 
ond  I  put  my  arm  within  his,  and  looked  in  his  face, 
and  said,  "  I  should  feel  proud  to  walk  with  you. 
Jack,  now  through  London,  in  that  very  dress ;  I  bo 
people  might  say  what  they  would,  but  I  shouldn't 
mind  a  bit,  for  I  should  feel  '  that  is  my  br::ther,  who 
would  rather  die  than  swear  to  a  lie ' " 


3rBS.  KITTY  trevylyan:  863 

"  It's  a  brave  little  Kitty,"  lie  said  in  rather  a  husky 
voice ;  "  but,  liush,  Kitty !"  he  added  hastily,  "  hush, 
for  God's  sake !  don't  lift  me  up  on  my  fool's  pedestal 
again !" 

But  as  I  went  away  he  called  me  back,  an  I  said 
s:.ftly,— 

"  You  have  hope  of  me,  Kitty ;  don't  give  it  up, 
for  heaven's  sake,  don't !  and  try  to  make  Father 
and  Mother  have  hope  of  me.  It  does  me  good 
to  think  you  have,  for  God  knows  I  have  little  my- 
self." 

The  next  day  Father  and  I  went  to  him  together ; 
but  that  interview  I  cannot  describe,  because  I 
never  can  think  of  it  without  crying,  much  less 
write.  How  Father  begged  Jack's  pardon,  and 
Jack  Father's,  and  they  both  fell  into  weeping.  It 
is  such  an  overwhelming  thing  to  see  men  like 
Father  and  Jack  hopelessly  break  down,  and  cry 
like  children. 

To  women,  I  think  tears  are  a  natural,  easy  over- 
flowing of  sorrow.  But  from  men  they  seem  wrung, 
as  if  every  drop  were  almost  bled  in  anguish  from 
the  depths  of  the  heart.  With  us  tears  are  a  com- 
fort, to  men  they  seem  an  agony. 

But  Evelyn  was  right.  In  a  few  days  the  Original 
Peruvian  Mining  Company's  splendid  offices  were  to 
be  let,  and  Elias  Postlethwaite,  Esq.,  was  nowhere  to 
be  found. 

And  the  prosecutor  having  come  to  nothing,  of 
course  the  prosecution  came  to  nothing  too. 

But  that  was  not  the  chief  joy ;  not  by  any  means 
the  chief  joy  to  me,  great  as  it  was. 

The  day  after  I  had  told  Jack  the  effect  of  our  in- 


864  THE  DIARY  OF 

terview  with  the  Secretaiy,  I  was  permitted  to  sit 
with  him  some  time  in  his  cell. 

At  first  I  talked  to  him  about  home,  but  I  thought 
he  seemed  absent,  and  after  a  little  while  he  said  ab- 
ruptly,— 

"  Kitty,  I  had  a  very  strange  visitor  yesterday 
evening  after  you  left, — an  old  sailor  called  Silas 
Jold, — ^who  it  seems  finds  his  way  into  all  the  prisons 
and  to  the  hearts  of  the  prisoners  in  a  very  remark- 
able way.  He  was  a  sailor  in  his  youth,  and  a  very 
bad  fellow  from  his  own  account ;  involved  in  all 
kinds  of  horrors  in  kidnapping  blacks  from  the  Afri- 
can coast.  At  last  he  grew  tired  of  his  wild  life, 
and  settled  down  in  business  in  London,  and  maiiied. 
Not  long  after  this  a  poor  workman  got  him  and  his 
wife  to  go  and  hear  Mr.  Wesley  at  the  Foundery. 
They  were  not  convinced  in  a  moment,  but  before 
long  everything  was  thoroughly  changed  with  them. 
They  found  great  happiness  in  religion  ;  and  after  a 
time  he  gave  up  his  business  to  teach  poor  outcast 
children  at  a  school  in  connection  with  Mr.  Wesley's 
meeting-house  at  the  Foundery  at  a  salary  of  ten 
shillings  a  week.  For  seven  years  he  worked  from 
morning  till  night  for  these  destitute  brys.  He 
trained  three  hundred  of  them,  teaching  them  to 
read  and  write,  and  fitting  them  for  all  kinds  of 
trades.  But  one  morning,  when  he  and  his  boys 
were  attending  Mr.  Wesley's  five  o'clock  morning 
preaching,  the  text  was,  'I  was  sick  and  in  prisor, 
and  ye  visited  me  not.'  The  reproach  [pierced  his 
heart,  he  said,  as  if  our  Lord  had  looked  sorrowfully 
at  him  while  he  spoke  the  words.  For  some  days  *ie 
was  wretched,  and  from  that  time  he  has  made  it  his 
work  to  visit  every  cell  in  every  prison  to  which  he 


MRS,  KITTY  TUEVYLYAK.  865 

can  find  admittance.  He  has  gone  in  the  cart  to  the 
gallows  with  criminals,  praying  for  them  all  the  way. 
He  has  brought  joy,  absolute  joy,  wdth  the  news  of 
God's  mercy,  into  condemned  cells.  He  has  made 
the  most  hardened  criminals  weep  in  an  agony  of 
sorrow  for  their  sins, — such  an  agony,  Kitty,  that 
afterwards,  when  they  were  able  to  believe  God  had 
forgiven  them  their  sins,  it  seemed  nothing  to  go  to 
the  gallows.  And  what  seems  to  me  more  wonderf  il 
still*  (this  the  jailer  told  me),  sheriffs,  hangmen,  and 
turnkeys  have  been  seen  weeping  as  he  exhorted  or 
comforted  the  prisoners.  The  authorities,  civil  and 
ecclesiastical,  have  tried  again  and  again  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  prisons,  but  he  will  not  be  kept  out. 
And  so  yesterday  evening,  Kitty,  he  found  his  way 
to  me." 

I  said  nothing,  but  waited  for  him  to  go  on.  After 
a  little  pause  he  continued, — 

"  He  found  his  way  to  me,  and  when  I  am  free,  if 
ever  I  am,  I  will  find  my  way  to  him ;  for  he  prayed 
with  me,  and  prayer  like  that  I  never  thought  there 
could  be.  He  prayed  as  if  he  saw  my  heart,  and  saw 
our  Saviour.  I  shall  never  forget  it, — I  trust  I  shall 
never  forget  it.  What  the  words  were  I  am  sure  I 
cannot  tell.  They  did  not  seem  like  words,  so  fer- 
vent, so  sure,  so  reverent,  so  imploring,  so  earnest,  it 
seemed  as  if  he  would  have  stormed  heaven,  and  yet 
all  the  time  the  great  power  of  them  seemed  to  be, 
that  he  felt  God  w^as  on  our  side,  willing  to  give,  de- 
llgliti7ig  to  give,  stretching  out  His  hands  to  give  !" 

"You  had  told  him  something  of  yourself,"  I  said, 
when  he  had  been  silent  a  little  while. 

*  Stevens'  "  History  of  Methodism." 

31* 


866  THE  DIART  OF 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  told  him,  Kitty,  or  what  he 
found  out.  I  only  know  I  intended  at  first  to  tell 
him  nothing ;  I  thought  he  was  going  to  treat  me  as 
one  case  among  a  thousand  of  spiritual  disease.  But 
he  came  to  me  like  a  friend,  like  a  brother,  so  full  of 
respect,  so  full  of  pity,  there  was  no  standing  it,  and 
before  he  left  I  was  telling  him  what  was  in  my  in- 
most heart." 

"  And  it  has  done  you  good.  Jack,"  I  said. 

"  It  has  opened  a  new  world  to  me,"  he  said.  "  It 
has  made  me  see  that  what  you  and  Father  felt  for 
me  in  my  sin  and  trouble,  God  felt  infinitely  more. 
He  has  been  grieved-  at  my  doing  wrong,  because  sin 
is  the  worst  misery,  and  His  one  desire  and  purpose 
is  to  lift  me  out  of  it  up  to  himself.  And  He  will  do 
It,  Kitty ;  I  do  believe  He  will  do  it." 

It  was  some  days  before  the  formalities  about  Jack's 
liberation  could  be  arranged,  and  very  precious  days 
they  were  to  him.  Silas  Jold  saw  him  often,  patiently 
encountering  his  variable  tempers,  and  meeting  his 
shifting  difficulties ;  for  at  first  Jack  had  many  diffi- 
culties, and  occasionally,  I  must  confess,  he  was  in  an 
irritable  state  that  did  not  always  contrast  favorably 
with  his  old  complacent  equanimity.  He  often  re- 
minded me  of  a  sick  child  waking  up  with  a  vague 
sense  of  hunger  and  discomfort  which  it  could  only 
express  by  fretting.  But  the  great  fact  remained. 
He  was  no  longer  asleep,  his  whole  being  was  awake. 
At  one  time  he  would  defend  himself  captiously 
against  his  own  previous  self-accusations ;  at  another 
he  would  bitterly  declare  that  all  hope  of  better  days 
for  him  was  an  idle  dream, — he  had  fallen,  not  per- 
haps beyond  hope  of  forgiveness  hereafter,  but  quite 


MRS.  KITTY  TEFVYLJAK  367 

beyond  all  hope  of  restoration  to  any  life  worth 
living  here.  Yet  although  often,  when  I  seemed  to 
leave  him  on  the  shore,  I  found  him  again  tossed  back 
among  the  breakers,  and  buffeted  by  them  hither  and 
thither;  nevertheless,  on  the  whole,  there  was  ad- 
vance. There  was  a  steadily  growing  conviction  of 
his  own  moral  weakness,  and  a  steadily  growing  con- 
fidence in  the  forgiveness  and  the  strengthening 
power  of  God,  until  on  the  day  when  he  came  out, 
when  he  and  I  were  alone  in  the  study  in  Great  Or- 
mond  Street,  he  said, — 

"  It  is  the  'beginning  with  forgiveness,  Kitty,  that 
makes  all  the  difference  I  Easy  forgiveness,  indeed, 
may  make  us  think  lightly  of  doing  wrong,  but  God's 
is  no  easy  forgiveness.  The  sacrifice  which  makes  it 
easy  for  us  was  Ood''s.  It  is  pardon  proclaimed  with 
the  dying  words  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  sealed  with 
His  blood.  It  is  wonderful  joy  to  know  that  God 
does  not  hate  us  on  account  of  our  sins  ;  but  I  think 
it  is  almost  greater  joy  to  know  that  He  hates  our 
dns  for  our  sahes^  and  will  not  let  our  sins  alone,  but 
will  help  and  encourage  us,  yes,  and  make  us  suffer 
anything  to  conquer  them,  and  to  become  just,  and 
true,  and  unselfish." 

Many  outside  difllculties  remained.  It  seemed 
difficult  to  find  any  career  open  to  Jack.  He  was 
ready  to  try  anything,  and  to  bear  any  humiliation, 
but  the  suspicions  and  distrust  which  doing  wrong  , 
necessarily  bring  on  people  are  a  cold  atmosphere  for 
anything  good  to  grow  in.  If  he  smiled,  for  instance, 
Aunt  Henderson  was  apt  to  think  him  impenitent.  If 
he  was  grave,  Uncle  Beauchamp  was  disposed  to  con- 
4der  him  sullen.     It  is  so  terribly  difficult  for  any 


868  ^^^  DIARY  OF 

one  who  has  fallen  openly  to  rise  again.  If  lie  stands 
upright  and  looks  up,  some  people  call  him  shame- 
less ;  if  he  stoops  and  looks  down,  others  call  him 
base.  At  first  we  thought  of  home  and  the  old  farm 
life ;  but  much  as  I  should  have  liked  to  have  him 
with  us  again,  I  could  not  help  seeing  with  some  pain 
that  although  Jack  made  not  an  objection,  and  en- 
deavored to  enter  into  it,  the  thought  evidently 
depressed  him. 

One  morning  while  Father  and  I  were  debating 
these  matters,  to  our  amazement  the  footman  quietly 
ushered  in  "  Mr.  Spencer." 

Hugh  had  that  day  arrived  with  Tom  from  America. 
Father  left  me  to  tell  him  all  the  sad  yet  hopeful  his- 
tory of  the  last  few  weeks,  and  when  almost  before 
we  had  come  to  the  end  of  it.  Jack  came  in,  I  went 
away  and  left  them  alone  together. 

Jack  told  me  afterwards  that  Hugh's  warm  wel- 
come, and  his  honest  and  faithful  counsel,  werebetter 
than  a  fortune  to  him.  "  It  is  such  a  wonderful  help," 
he  said,  "to  feel  you  are  trusted  by  one  everybody 
can  trust  like  Hugh." 

I  know  so  well  what  that  is.  At  one  time  I  used 
to  be  afraid  to  give  myself  up  to  the  feeling  lest  it 
should  be  idolatry,  but  I  have  got  over  that  fear  now 
after  talking  it  over  with  Hugh,  because  he  says  I 
am  just  as  wonderful  help  to  him,  which  makes  it 
plain  that  it  must  be  because  God  makes  it  so. 
Hugh  says  it  is  no  more  worshipping  each  other  to 
feel  we  can  work  twice  as  well  together  than  it  is 
worshipping  the  sun  to  feel  we  can  work  better  in 
the  daylight. 


3rRS.  KITTY  TKSVYLYAI^.  869 

Hugh  has  set  it  all  right  for  Jack — Hugh  and 
poor  Cousin  Tom,  who  came  back  with  him.  Hugh 
thinks  the  old  life  at  home  would  not  be  good  for 
Jack  ;  hq  thinks  Jack  and  Father  naturally  fret  each 
other  a  little,  and  if  they  control  themselves  so  as  not 
to  fret  each  other,  they  will  fret  themselves  all  the 
more  by  the  effort.  Besides,  he  thinks  the  life  would 
be  very  depressing  for  Jack.  It  would  be  like  a  life 
of  old  age  begun  in  youth,  that  monotonous  routine 
of  work  pleasant  and  calm  enough,  with  the  busy  day 
of  life  leliind^  but  most  depressing  and  trying,  with 
nothing  behind  but  lost  opportunities,  a  closed  . 
career,  and  a  wasted  youth. 

It  was  therefore  arranged  that  Jack  should  go  to 
America,  and  take  charge  of  a  tobacco  plantation, 
which  Tom  had  recently  purchased  in  South  Caro- 
lina, while  Tom  remained  at  home  to  assist  his. 
father.  The  relief  to  Jack  was  evidently  very  great, 
and  I  was  glad  it  w^as  all  settled  before  we  returned 
home,  as  the  discussions  might  have  been  painful  to 
Mother. 

In  order  to  complete  these  arrangements  we  spent 
some  days  at  Hackney.  Aunt  Henderson  informed 
me,  with  a  grim  satisfaction,  that  Uncle  Henderson's 
demure  nephew  had  disappeared  with  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money.  The  loss  of  property  was  evi- 
dently more  than  compensated  by  the  fulfillment  of 
prophecy,  and  by  the  manifest  discomfiture  of  Cal- 
vinistic  doctrine  in  the  person  of  her  Presbyterian 
foe. 

Uncle  Henderson  abandoned  the  field  of  contro- 
versy altogether ;  and  if  any  one  at  any  time  lifted 
up  a  faint  protest  in  favor  of  Mr.  Whitefield  and 
Tvady    Huntingdon,    the    utmost    Aunt    Henderson 


370  THE  DIARY  OF 

would  concede  was,  that  *'  there  were  exceptions, 
merciful  exceptions;  that  there  was,  in  sliort,  no 
limit  to  the  divine  mercy ;  that  she  believed  there 
were  even  Papists  that  would  be  saved." 

The  disappearance  of  the  nephew  and  the  money 
was,  in  its  way,  as  great  a  relief  to  Cousin  Tom  as  to 
his  mother. 

"  You  see.  Cousin  Kitty,"  he  said,  "  I  was  deter- 
mined to  submit  to  anything,  for  I  felt  I  deserved  it. 
But  it  is  a  comfort  to  feel  I  can  be  of  some  use  to 
father,  and  that  I  am  coming  back  to  work  for  them, 
and  not  only  to  eat  fatted  calves." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  Cousin  Tom,"  I  said,  "  that  after 
the  welcome  no  hired  servant  of  his  father's  worked 
like  the  forgiven  son  did." 

"  And  I  have  no  doubt,"  he  replied,  "  that  he  en- 
.  joyed  toiling  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  as  much  in  its 
way  as  the  feast." 

"  I  think  the  forgiven  children  our  Lord  meant  all 
do,"  I  said. 

A  glimmer  of  understanding  glanced  out  from 
Cousin  Tom's  shaggy  brows,  and  he  said, — 

"  Do  you  remember.  Cousin  Kitty,  once  telling  me 
that  conversion  was  not  a  closed  door  between  us 
and  God,  but  an  open  door  through  which  I  must  go  ? 
Well,  I  was  a  long  while  getting  to  understand  that, 
but  I  think  I  am  beginning  now." 

Those  were  very  happy  days  at  Hackney.  Aunt 
Henderson  was  so  interested  to  hear  all  about 
Mother.  When  I  related  to  her  Betty's  treatment 
of  the  fever,  she  said  Betty  was  quite  right  in  con- 
sidermg  her  recovery  a  miracle,  for  that  such  conduct 
was  nvAthing  less  than  murder  and  madness. 


3rRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAir.  371 

But  her  heart  was  too  softened  and  humbled  with 
joy — the  joy  of  having  her  boy  home  again — to  be 
very  severe  on  any  one's  errors — except  the  demure 
nephew's,  without  y/hose  delinquencies  and  misbe- 
liefs her  controversial  weapons  might  have  rusted  on 
the  shelf. 

When  I  attempted  to  thank  her  for  Tom's  generous 
conduct  to  Jack  about  the  plantation  in  South  Caro- 
lina, she  stopped  me  at  once, — 

"Kitiy,  rcy  dear,  every  shilling  we  have  in  the 
world  would  be  nothing  for  me  and  mine  to  repay 
to  you  and  yours.  What  you  and  Mr.  Spencer  have 
done  for  Tom  and  for  us  is  beyond  thanks  or  pay- 
ment, and  compliments  are  not  in  my  way.  Poor 
dear  Sister  Beauchamp  understands  that  kind  of 
thing.  But  I  never  did.  But,  my  dear,  if  at  any 
time  any  of  you  are  ill,  don't  hesitate  to  send  for  me 
to  come  and  nurse  you.  I  do  know  something  about 
physic,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  any  of  you, 
poor  Sister  Trevylyan  among  you ;  and  I'd  go  from 
one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other,  and  w^ear  myself  to 
a  skeleton  with  pleasure  to  do  any  of  you  any  good 
in  my  power.  So  only  you  promise,  Kitty,  my  dear, 
and  I  should  feel  it  quite  a  burden  off  my  mind." 

I  could  not  help  inwardly  trembling  at  the  thought 
of  the  snails'  broth,  the  severe  medical  discipline,  and 
the  collisions  that  must  inevitably  occur  in  such  a 
case  betv/een  Aunt  Henderson  and  Betty.  I  could 
only  say  I  trusted  we  should  all  keep  well  for  a  long 
time,  and  that  it  would  be  a  delight  to  me  to  render 
the  same  service  to  Aunt  Henderson. 

So  we  were  once  more  at  the  dear  old  home.  Our 
own  ukl  party, — Father,  and  Mother,  and  Jack,  and 


873  777^  DIARY  OF 

Hugh,  and  1 ;  for  Hugh  always  was  one  of  us,  al- 
though now  he  is  one  of  us  in  a  nearer  way. 

How  nearly  we  have  all  been  severed  in  the  storms 
of  this  "  troublesome  world."  And  how  sweet  the 
past  dangers  make  the  present  calm. 

There  is  much  indeed  still  to  remind  us  that  we 
are  at  sea,  on  the  open  sea,  with  no  promise  of  ex- 
emption from  storms  in  time  to  come.  But  we  are 
not  without  a  Pilot !  and  we  have  proved  Him,  which 
is  something  to  gain  from  any  stoim. 

Mother  is  much  more  willing  to  part  with  Jack  for 
America  than  we  dared  to  hope  she  would  be.  She 
says  she  feels  it  easier  to  part  with  him  now  than 
when  he  went  to  the  army  in  Flanders.  She  feels 
he  is  not  going  alone.  And  by  that,  we  know  well, 
she  does  not  only  mean  that  Hugh  is  going  with  him 
to  settle  him  in  the  new  country. 

For  Hugh  is  going,  but  with  a  hope  that  makes  his 
going  easier  for  us  both  than  when  he  left  us  last. 

For  a  few  days  after  our  return,  we  had  a  visit 
from  Cousin  Evelyn's  great-uncle,  our  new  vicar. 

He  looked  more  aged  and  thinner  than  when  we 
saw  him  last ;  and  he  was  more  nervous  than  ever. 

He  said  he  believed  it  was  too  late  to  transplant  an 
old  man  like  him  from  the  centre  of  civilized  and 
learned  life  at  Oxford  to  what  he  hoped  he  might 
term,  without  offence,  a  region  rather  on  the  outskirts 
of  civilization.  .  He  said,  between  wrecking  and 
poaching,  aversion  to  paying  tithes,  their  Cornish 
dialect,  and  what  he  could  not  help  calling  remnants 
of  native  barbarism  on  the  one  hand,  and  Methodism 
on  the  other,  he  could  make  nothing  whatever  of  the 
people,  and  if  any  one  else  could,  he  was  sure  they 
were  welcome  to  try. 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  373 

He  had  therefore  come  to  propose  that  Hugh  should 
take  the  curacy,  with  a  liberal  salary.  He  himself 
would  settle  in  London.  He  had  spoken  to  the  Pat- 
ron, who,  considering  the  circumstances,  said  perhaps 
it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  be  done.  So  all  is 
settled. 

Hugh  and  Jack  are  gone.  They  sailed  from  Fal 
mouth. 

I  feel  more  anxious  now  they  are  actually  gone  than 
when  it  was  first  proposed.  From  not  having  much 
imagination  I  never  can  measure  the  pain  of  things 
beforehand,  which  sometimes  makes  it  worse  after- 
wards. 

The  shij?  they  sailed  in  is  an  old  one.  I  heard 
some  sailors  talking  disparagingly  of  her  as  we  left 
the  quay. 

And  the  evening  after  they  left  was  stormy.  Heavy 
masses  of  thunder-cloud  gathered  in  the  west  as  I 
looked  from  the  cliffs,  just  where  I  thought  the  ship 
must  be. 

And  Betty  shakes  her  head  again,  and  says  it  is  of 
no  use  boding  ill,  but  she  has  seen  and  heard  very 
dismal  things  of  late. 

And  when  I  combated  her  fears,  and  reminded  her 
what  terrible  things  she  had  heard  about  Mother,  she 
only  nodded  and  compressed  her  lips,  and  reminded 
me  that,  if  miracles  were  worked,  and  Mother  was 
spared,  nevertheless  she  broke  her  own  leg,  to  say 
nothing  of  Master  Jack ;  and  miracles  can't  be  ex- 
pected at  all  times.  She  only  wishes  she  had  not 
been  a  poor  crippled  old  woman,  or  she  would  have 
gone  herself  to  take  care  of  Master  Jack.  She  has 
heard  terrible  tales  of  the  Indians  and  blacks ;  and 
32 


874  TITE  DIARY  OF 

who  was  to  get  up  his  linen  and  dam  his  stockings '{ 
However,  she  will  hope  for  the  best.  Folks  ha'ce  got 
out  of  their  hands  alive,  she  believes,  and  she  trusts 
Master  Hugh  will,  and  that  we  shall  see  him  back 
again  safe  and  sound  ;  but  she  shall  be  thankful 
when  we  do,  that  is  all. 

"  But,  Betty,"  I  said  at  last,  struggling  betweei 
tears  and  anger,  or  rather  between  anger  at  her  for 
her  forebodings  and  at  myself  for  minding  them, — 
"  Betty,  it  is  no  better  than  the  heathens  to  heed  such 
fancies.  We  must  open  our  hearts  wide  to  the  Bible, 
and  let  the  light  of  the  truth  and  the  breath  of  the 
Spirit  shine  and  search  through  every  comer.  What 
are  all  the  forebodings  in  the  world  to  one  hour  of 
hearty  prayer  ?  Remember,  prayer  was  stronger  even 
than  St.  Paul's  forebodings;  for  he  said,  he  'j^er- 
ceived  that  the  voyage  would  be  with  much  hurt  and 
damage,  not  only  of  the  ship,  but  also  of  their  lives.* 
Yet,  afterwards  when  he  had  fasted  and  prayed  he 
stood  forth  and  said  that  Ood  liad  given  him  the  lives 
of  all  that  were  in  the  ship ;  and  though  the  ship 
was  wrecked,  not  one  life  was  lost." 

"  There  le  some  prayers,"  said  Betty,  "  that  can 
move  heaven  and  earth." 

"  xlnd  prayer  was  stronger  than  prophecy  once,"  I 
said, — "  not  the  prayer  of  an  apostle,  Betty,  but  of  a 
poor  sinful  heathen  city.  Nineveh  was  saved,  let 
Jonah  be  disappointed  as  he  might  at  his  words  be- 
ing set  aside." 

*'Well,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty,  drily,  becoming 
very  busy  and  energetic  about  her  work,  *'  I  hardly 
take  it  kind  of  you  to  put  me  down  with  that  poor 
seltish  old  Jew.  I've  thought  many  a  time  it  as 
wonderful  the  Almighty  should  speak  by  him  as  by 


3fBS.  KITTY  TREVYLTAK  375 

Balaam's  ass, — running  away  from  his  work,  nearly 
sinking  the  ship  and  the  sailors,  and  then  sulking 
and  creusling  like  a  spoilt  child,  because  the  Lord 
was  more  pitiful  than  he,  and  the  poor  sinful  men 
and  women  of  that  great  city,  and  the  poor  harmless 
dumb  beasts  were  spared.  I  can't  say  but  I  do  feel 
hurt  to  be  likened  to  him.  All  I  know  is,  I  pray 
night  and  day  for  Master  Jack  and  Master  Hugh ; 
and  if  Master  Jack  and  Master  Hugh  do  come  back 
safe  and  sound,  cruel  glad  I  shall  be." 

"  Betty,"  said  I,  "  you  know  I  never  meant  to  com- 
pare you  to  the  prophet  Jonah  ;  I  only  said  that  God 
even  turned  from  his  own  threatenings  when  people 
prayed  to  Him  long  ago ;  and  who  can  say  how 
much  even  our  prayers  may  help  those  we  love  now  ? 
He  can  send  His  angels,  and  one  of  His  angels  is 
stronger  than  all  the  storms  on  the  ocean  ;  or  He  can 
stretch  out  His  hand,  and  the  poor  sinking  Peter  can 
walk  on  the  sea.  I  want  you  to  think  of  God's 
promises  and  not  of  signs,  and  tokens,  and  our  fore- 
bodings. I  want  you  to  hope,  Betty,  because  I  know 
you  love  us  all  so  dearly  ;  and  the  more  we  hope  the 
better,  I  think,  we  pray ;  and  sometimes  I  find  it 
hard  to  hope  myself,  and  I  want  you  to  help  and  not 
to  hinder  me." 

*'  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Betty,  relaxing,  "  young 
folks  most  times  find  it  easy  enough  to  hope.  If  the 
sun  shines  for  an  hour,  they  think  there'll  never  be 
winter  again  ;  and  if  old  folks  don't  keep  their  wits 
about  them,  where'll  the  fire-wood  be  when  winter 
comes  ? 

"  And  Tilrs.  Kitty,  my  dear,  I  meant  no  disrespect 
to  the  Prophet  Jonah ;  poor  fearful  soul,  he  had  his 
troubles,  sure  ;  and  if  Pd  been  in  his  place,  I  won't 


376  MRS,   KITTY  TREVYLYAN, 

say  I  mightn't  have  been  worse  than  he,  althongh  T 
do  hope  the  Almighty  would  have  kept  me  from 
caring  for  some  poor  bits  of  leaves,  that  grew  up  like 
mushrooms  in  a  night,  just  because  they  made  me 
cool,  more  than  for  all  the  people  in  that  great  town, 
specially  the  innocent  babes  and  the  dumb  beasts. 
I'm  a  cross-grained  old  soul,  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear,  and 
my  temper's  a  little  particular  at  the  best  of  times  ; 
but  I'd  be  content  to  sit  a  helpless  cripple  all  the 
rest  of  my  life  in  the  chimney-comer  and  watch 
Roger,  poor  fool,  or  that  poor  clumsy  hussy  blun- 
dering away  at  the  beasts  and  the  butter  (though  I 
won't  deny  it  might  worry  me  into  my  grave),  if  I 
might  see  you  and  Master  Hugh  and  Master  and 
Missis  all  here  together,  and  know  Master  Jack  was 
doing  well, — and  who  knows  but  I  may  ?  For  I 
don't  deny  that  the  Lord's  mercies  are  beyond  every- 
thing ;  and  if  He  disappoints  folks,  it's  most  times  by 
giving  them  more  than  they  ask  and  better  than  they 
hope.  Leastways,  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear,  that's  been 
His  way  with  me." 


xn. 

^T  is  now  two  months  since  Hugh  and  Jack  left 
us.  We  have  had  letters  full  of  hope  and 
promise ;  and  all  the  weight  of  foreboding 
which  settled  down  on  me  during  the  long  days  of 
silence  between  their  leaving  and  our  hearing  seems 
meltuig  away.  Every  breath  of  this  soft  spring  air, 
evei'y  smile  of  this  life-giving  spring  sunshine  seems 
to  blow  or  shine  my  cares  away. 

I  think  the  delight  of  seeing  new  things  is  nothing 
compared  to  the  delight  of  seeing  old  things  grow 
into  a  new  beauty  at  the  touch  of  a  new  season,  or 
in  the  light  of  a  new  joy.  That  is,  living  things, 
things  of  God's  making.  I  can  never  fancy  taking 
the  pleasure  in  seeing  even  those  wonderful  forests 
Hugh  writes  about  in  the  New  World,  that  I  do  in 
watching  these  very  same  dear  old  elms  which  have 
bent  down  over  me  from  my  childhood  wake  up 
branch  by  branch,  and  twig  by  twig,  and  spread  their 
delicate  young  leaves  in  the  air,  until  they  grow  thick 
enough  to  hide  in  deep  bowers  of  shade  the  soft  nest 
which  those  two  thrushes  have  been  so  happy  build- 
ing and  furnishing,  and  where  the  mate  is  now  sing- 
ing in  low  tender  tones  while  the  mother-bird  broods 
over  her  nestlings,  and  the  gentle  winds  rock  the 
cradle. 

32* 


87b  TUE  DIARY  OF 

Tnose  American  forests,  with  their  depths  of  pil- 
larea  shade,  and  all  the  rich  traceries  of  their  brilliant 
creepers,  would  be  only  a  'picture  to  me ;  a  glorious 
picture  indeed,  painted  by  the  Master's  hand,  but 
wanting  the  sweet  fragrance  of  time  and  home  which 
breathes  to  me  from  every  blossom  of  the  hawthorn 
under  my  chamber  wind  r* . 

And  now  there  is  another  new  light  on  all  the  dear 
familiar  old  places.  For  Hugh  is  coming  back  so 
soon,  so  soon ;  and  we  are  to  work  together,  he  and 
I,  all  our  lives  long,  for  the  good  and  happiness  of 
the  old  parish  and  the  old  friends;  to  bring  new 
eternal  hope  and  life,  I  trust,  into  many  a  heart  and 
home. 

It  is  the  wonderful  power  of  life  in  nature  which 
seems  to  thrill  the  heart  with  the  conscious  presence 
of  Him  who  is  the  Life ;  far  more  than  the  most 
glorious  scene  which  we  cannot  look  at  long  enough 
to  see  it  grow^  and  bloom,  and  change,  until,  instead 
of  lying  merely  on  the  surface  of  our  minds  as  a 
vision,  it  possesses  our  hearts  and  grows  into  them 
as  a  part  of  our  life.  The  beauty  of  all  beautiful 
things  says,  "  God  has  'been  lierey  But  the  Life  in 
the  lowliest  living  thing,  in  the  tiniest  moss  which 
puts  forth  a  fresh  green  star  to-day,  in  the  little 
opening  leaf  which  has  burst  the  gummy  casing  in 
which  it  was  encased  yesterday,  and  flutters  in  the 
air  and  sun  this  morning  (with  the  crumples  of  its 
long  winter  packing  not  yet  fluttered  out  of  it), — in 
the  trembling  snow-drop  which  a  touch  can  crush, 
but  which  all  the  weight  of  the  inanimate  earth  could 
not  keep  from  clearing  its  way  up  to  the  light, — 
LIFE,  in  its  lowliest  developments,  says,  not  merely, 
"  God  has  been  here,"  but  "  God  is  here  ;"  not  only, 


MRS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  379 

"  The  Master's  hand  has  been  on  us,  see  how  perfect 
His  work  is !"  but  *'  The  life  of  the  Life  Giver  is 
breathing  through  us,  feel  the  joy  of  his  presence  !" 
And  that  seems  to  me  to  go  much  deeper  into  the 
heart.  What  is  a  remembrance  to  a  presence  ?  What 
is  a  letter  to  a  voice  ?    What  is  a  picture  to  a  touch  ? 

I  was  sitting  to-day  by  the  well-spring  in  the  wood 
from  which  the  water  wells  up  so  gently,  so  peace- 
fully, without  noise  or  stir,  that  it  often  makes  me 
think  of  the  pool  which  the  angel  troubled,  and 
made  its  waters  healing.  So  strong  is  the  power  of 
life  for  every  creature  near  it  which  seems  to  flow 
from  that  little  spring.  The  first  spring  flowers  al- 
ways come  there,  which  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I 
know  it  so  well,  because  every  year  I  always  gather 
her  first  nosegay  there  for  Mother.  And  so  deej)  and 
hallowed  is  the  quiet  of  the  place,  that,  as  a  child,  I 
often  used  to  fancy  it  must  be  something  else  than 
mere  common  wind  and  water  which  made  the  flow- 
ers quiver  and  the  leaves  flutter  as  at  the  silent  touch 
of  a  hand  they  loved.  And,  as  it  is,  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  there  are  not  a  great  many  more  Iking 
heings  busy  in  the  world  around  us  about  God's  work 
than  we  know  of.  Because,  we  use  machines  to  save 
toil  and  to  spare  hands ;  but  where  work  is  not  toil, 
but  delight,  and  where  the  workers  are  "  ten  thou- 
sand times  ten  thousand,  and  thousands  of  thou- 
sands," why  should  lifeless  machinery  do  what  living 
hearts  always  do  so  much  better  ? 

But,  however  that  may  be,  Hugh  says,  matters  com- 
paratively little,  because  nothing  is  done  in  God's 
world  by  dead  laws  made  ages  since,  nor  by  lifeless 
machinery  set  going  long  ago,  and  only  generally 


880  THE  DIARY  OF 

superintended  from  a  distaace.  Everywliere  tlie 
agency,  lie  says,  is  living,  not  mechanical,  whether 
the  work  of  happy  ministering  spirits,  or  of  the  One 
Living  Presence  which  is  better  and  nearer  and  dearer 
than  all. 

Mother  and  I  have  been  having  long  talks  as  we 
have  been  sitting  at  our  spinning  or  sewing,  and  it 
seems  to  me  it  is  our  transplanting  these  poor  limited 
thoughts  of  ours  into  heaven  and  eternity,  that 
makes  half  the  difficulty,  if  not  all,  in  these  ques- 
tions of  predestination  and  assurance  about  which 
some  Christian  people  have  been  fighting  so  bitterly 
of  late. 

We  want  to  have  everything  sealed,  and  settled, 
and  written  down  in  unalterable  decrees  and  irrever- 
sible title-deeds,  forgetting  that  deeds  and  decrees 
are  of  value  simply  because  the  people  who  made 
them  may  die  or  change ;  while  the  grand  security 
of  the  gifts  of  God  is  that  it  is  God  who  gives  them. 
The  Giver  lives  for  ever  and  is  always  at  hand.  I  do 
not  think  He  will  give  us  any  other  security.  I  am 
sure  we  can  have  none  so  strong. 

Unbelief,  like  Eve,  craves  a  security  independent 
of  God.  But  independence  of  God  is  death;  and 
faith,  accepting  the  living  God  as  the  security  of 
His  own  promises,  finds  in  such  dependence  not  only 
security  but  life.  Unbelief  would  have  some  sen- 
tence, some  irrevocable  decision,  to  build  on.  God 
gives  us  no  such  poor  abstractions  to  rest  on  apart 
from  Him.  His  promises  are  all  personal,  all  made 
to  present  faith.  He  says,  "My  sheep  shall  nevei 
perish,  neither  shall  any  pluck  them  out  of  My 
hand.''    "  I  will  never  leave  thee,  nor  forsake  thee.'* 


MRS.  KITTY   TREVYLYAN.  381 

"  What  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?" 
And  if  the  cold  heart,  seeking  security  against  itself, 
asks,  "  But  can  I  pluck  myself  out  of  Thy  hand  ? 
Can  /  ever  forsake  Hiee  ?  Though  neither  things 
present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  life,  nor  death,  can 
separate,  may  not  sin  f " — still  no  answer  comes  but, 
"  I  love.     I  keep.    Abide  in  Jfe." 

If  we  seek  for  one  promise  to  past  faith,  for  one 
word  of  encouragement  to  any  except  those  w^ho  are 
turning  to  God,  we  may  search  through  the  Bible  in 
vain.  Turn  to  God,  all  is  light.  Turn  from  Him, 
all  is  shade,  your  own  shadow.  God  gives  no  prom- 
ises except  to  faith,  and  to  faith  in  exercise. 

But  if  the  trembling,  clinging  heart,  weeping  over 
its  own  weakness,  asks  the  same  question,  "Can  I 
ever  pluck  myself  from  Thy  hand?  Can  I  ever 
forsake  Thee  ?"  it  is  still  the  same  answer,  but  in 
a  tone  of  tender  pity  which  changes  it  into  the 
most  enrapturing  assurance.  "  Abide  in  Me.  I  l(yce, 
I  Iceep. 

To  strong  faith  this  is  absolute  assurance.  To 
feeble  faith  no  stronger  assurance  can  be  given.  If 
all  the  ingenuity  of  all  the  divines  in  the  world  were 
taxed  to  find  a  formula  stating  in  abstract  terms  the 
security  of  the  believer,  despondency  would  bafiie 
them  all,  and  be  sure  to  find  some  flaw  to  exclude 
itself.  Therefore,  I  think,  God  takes  another  w^ay, 
and  draws  the  trembling,  doubting,  desponding 
heart  through  the  very  destitution  of  security  to  him- 
self.^ to  the  security  which  is  safety,  whether  it  is  felt 
to  be  so  or  not,  and  which,  when  it  is  felt  to  be 
safety,  is  life  and  joy  besides ;  to  the  fortress  of 
the  Father's  house,  to  the  sanctuary  of  the  Fatlicr' 
heart 


382  THE  DiAnr  of 

And  once  tJwre^  what  child  would  not  smile  at  all 
the  security  of  documents, — weej)ing  on  His  bosom, 
"  I  would  rather  trust  Thee." 

God  will  not  suffer  us  to  rest  on  things,  on  words, 
on  anything  in  our  past,  on  anything  even  in  His 
promises  apart  from  Mmself. 

*'  Restoration  to  God,"  Mother  said,  "  is  the  very 
end  and  object  for  which  we  are  redeemed.  *  Thou 
hast  redeemed  us  to  God  by  Thy  blood.'  And  God 
loves  us  too  truly  to  suffer  that  anything  shall  be 
a  substitute  for  living,  loving  communion  mth  him- 
self." 

It  seems  that  during  our  absence  in  London,  when 
Mother  and  Betty  were  left  alone  together,  they  had 
many  discussions.  At  fii*st,  these  were  at  times 
rather  hotly  controversial.  But  one  day  Betty  said 
it  made  her  head  so  dizzy  she  felt  like  going  mazed, 
to  be  spinning  round  and  round  always  in  the  same 
place,  as  it  was  her  opinion  Missis  and  she  had 
been  doing.  She  therefore  proposed  that  instead 
of  talking  so  much  they  should  read  the  Bible  to- 
gether, with  one  of  Mr.  Wesley's  hymns  by  way  of  a 
prayer.  And  it  was  wonderful.  Mother  said,  how 
much  better  they  grew  to  understand  each  other 
after  that. 

"  For,"  said  Mother,  "  to  confess  the  truth,  Kitty, 
I  never  forgot  what  Betty  said  to  me,  one  day  when 
I  was  ill,  about  assurance  and  the  witness  of  the 
spirit."  So  at  last  one  evening,  after  reading  the 
Bible  together.  Mother  and  Betty  had  the  conversa- 
tion which  Mother  thus  related  to  me. 

They  had  been  reading  together  the  eighth  chapter 
'^f  the  epistle  to  the  Romans,  and  had  dwelt  pnilicu- 


Mmi  KITTY  trevylyan:  383 

larly  on  the  verses,  "  There  is  therefore  now  no  condem- 
nation to  those  who,  are  in  Christ  Jesus,^''  and  "  The 
Spirit  deareth  witness  icith  our  spirit^  tliat  ice  are  children 
of  Oody  Betty  told  Mother  what  she  had  told  me, 
how,  after  weeks  of  gloom  and  wretchedness,  in  which 
the  sense  of  her  sins  weighed  on  her  like  a  darkness 
that  could  be  felt,  one  day  she  saw  the  burden  of  her 
sins  all  laid  on  her  Saviour ;  she  saw  how  He  bore 
them  in  His  own  body  on  the  tree,  and  bore  them 
away  and  buried  them  in  his  own  grave,  and  saved 
her.  And  she  felt  she  was  forgiven,  and  her  whole 
heart  overflowed  with  speechless  gratitude  and  joy. 

Mother  replied  that  she  had  more  than  once  felt 
her  heart  melt  into  gratitude  and  joy  when  she  had 
looked  at  the  Cross,  but  that  afterwards  the  recollec- 
tion of  her  sins  had  come  back  on  her  and  weighed 
her  do^^^l  again.  She  thought  such  an  assurance  of 
salvation  as  Betty  spoke  of  was  only  given  to  great 
saints,  and  only  to  them  when  their  faith  and  love 
were  all  but  perfected.  And  all  she  ventured  to 
hope  for  for  herself  was  that  one  day  perhaps,  on  her 
death-bed,  hope  might  at  last  overbalance  fear,  and 
she  might  depart  in  trembling  trust. 

But  Betty  said  she  did  not  believe  the  Almighty 
meant  His  children  to  creep  through  the  world  with 
a  halter  round  their  necks,  because  it  might  keep 
them  humble  to  remember  that  if  they  didn't  take 
care,  one  day  they  might  be  hanged.  No  father  on 
earth  with  a  heart  in  him  would  beat  the  worst  child 
who  wanted  to  become  better,  like  that.  *•  Least- 
ways," said  she,  "  that  wasn't  your  way.  Missis." 

"  Better,  perhaps,  if  it  had,"  said  Mother,  thinking 
mournfully  of  Jack.  "  Earthly  love  is  selfish  at  best. 
But  God  will  never  indulge  His  children,  because  He 


884  'fHE  DIAItY  OF 

loves  them  too  much.  Because  He  loves  us  He  can 
bear  to  see  us  suffer  any  tiling  that  will  do  us  good, 
and  if  it  would  keep  us  humbler  and  safer  to  wait 
for  our  pardon  till  we  are  safe  from  sinning,  God 
could  bear  to  hide  His  love  from  us,  though  it 
might  grieve  Him  at  His  heart." 

"  Yes,  sure  He  could^''  said  Betty,  "  if  it  would  do 
any  poor  soul  good  to  be  treated  so ;  but  it's  my  be- 
lief it  wouldn't,  and  the  Lord  knows  better  than  to 
do  such  a  thing.  And  as  to  Master  Jack,"  she  added, 
*' please  God,  Missis,  you  and  Master  mayn't  never 
take  to  such  a  way  with  him.  For  I  won't  deny  that 
if  you  and  Master  were  to  sit  in  the  hall  like  justices, 
when  he  comes  back,  for  him  to  come  cringing  and 
bowing  and  making  fine  speeches  before  you ;  and 
then  Master  were  to  say  quite  high  and  stiffish, 
*  Well,  sir,  w^e  shall  see, — time  will  show,'  and.  were 
to  send  him  out  into  the  kitchen  to  take  his  meat 
along  with  Roger  and  me,  I  can't  deny  if  I  were 
Master  Jack  I'd  run  away  again  for  good,  and  as  to 
me,  Missis,  I  wouldn't  stand  it." 

And  Betty  all  but  cried  at  her  o^^ti  tragic  notion, 
when  the  matter  struck  her  in  a  new  light,  and  she 
resumed, — 

"  But  what  an  old  fool  I  am  to  think  of  you  and 
Master  setting  up  play-acting  like  that.  Why,  Roger 
himself,  poor  innocent,  would  see  through  it,  and 
wait  smiling  in  himself  to  see  what  was  to  come  next. 
And  the  dog  wouldn't  be  taken  in  a  minute,  he'd 
whine  and  fawn  on  Master  Jack  and  jump  from  him 
to  you  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Why,  don't  you  see 
it's  young  master !'  But  Master  Jack  would  see 
through  it  the  first  of  all.  Before  you  or  Master 
could  say  one  of  your  fine  improving  si)eechcs,  he'd 


JfliS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK  885 

"be  at  your  feet,  Missis, — he'd  be  on  your  heart,  and 
you'd  be  crying  your  eyes  out  over  him  for  joy." 

Mother  made  one  more  faint  attempt  at  resistance. 

"  But  God  is  better  than  we  are,"  she  said  ;  "  and 
what  He  sees  good  for  us  He  will  do,  whatever  it 
costs  Him." 

"  The  Almighty  is  better  than  us,"  replied  Betty 
emphatically.  *'The  father  in  the  Bible  didn't  sit 
waiting  in  the  house,  saying,  ^  We  shall  see, — time 
mil  show.'  He  was  waiting  at  the  door  straining 
his  eyes  for  the  first  sight  of  the  poor  foolish  lad,  lest 
he  should  be  too  ashamed  to  come  near  after  all. 
And  the  minute  he  saw  him  he  ran  to  meet  him,  and 
fell  on  his  neck  more  like  a  mother  than  a  father, 
and  stopped  with  kisses  all  the  fine  speeches  he  had 
been  making  in  them  foreign  parts,  so  that  the  poor 
boy  never  got  through  with  them.  And  they  came 
back  into  the  house  together^  that  not  a  grudging  soul 
there  might  dare  to  cast  up  a  thing  at  him.  And  he 
set  all  the  men  and  maidens  to  work,  and  afterwards 
set  them  all  to  feasting  and  dancing  and  merry-mak- 
ing, as  if  it  had  been  a  wedding  or  a  christening,  in- 
stead of  only  a  poor,  wild  lad  creeping  back  home  to 
try  and  do  right  again,  with  scarce  a  rag  to  his  back, 
and  not  a  shoe  to  his  feet.  He  wasn't  afraid  the  poor 
fellow  would  make  himself  too  much  at  home.  He 
couldn't  do  enough  like  to  make  him  feel  he  was  at 
home  again.  And  the  Lord,  who  told  us  all  about 
it,"  concluded  Betty,  "  He  knows  what  the  inside  of 
the  father's  house  is,  which  is  more,  in  my  opinion, 
than  any  one  on  earth  can  do  yet  awhile.  So  we  may 
as  well  give  up  guessing  and  trust  to  what  He  said 
For  He  came  from  inside." 

Mother  admitted  that  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal 


OOD  THE  DIARY  OF 

Son  did  not  sliow  quite  plainly  the  joy  of  God  in 
welcoming  back  the  penitent  sinner.  "  But  how  were 
we  to  laiow  we  were  penitent  V  she  said.  "  It  was 
BO  easy  to  deceive  ourselves,  and  persuade  ourselves 
into  anything  we  wished." 

"  Well,  Missis,"  said  Betty,  "  I  can't  say  I  found  it 
so  easy.  The  more  I  wished  it,  the  less  I  could  be- 
lieve it  was  for  me." 

Mother  conceded  that  this  might  be  the  case 
with  honest  and  truthful  and  resented  people  like 
Betty ;  but  who  could  answer  for  the  delusions  into 
which  sanguine  and  excitable  people  might  fall  if 
they  were  told  the  beginning  of  religion  was  to  feel 
their  sins  were  forgiven. 

"  Some  folks  always  would  deceive  themselves," 
Betty  replied.  ''  The  Apostles  themselves  couldn't 
hinder  that,  try  as  they  might." 

Then  Mother  returned  to  her  point.  How  was  any 
one  to  know,  assuredly,  the  true  penitence  and  the 
true  joy  from  the  false  ? 

And  to  this  all  Betty  could  reply  was, — 

"  Well,  Missis,  I  can't  say  I  think  folks  can  know, 
unless  they  try  for  themselves.  But,"  she  added, 
"  if  we're  always  to  be  climbing  up  the  rock  out  of 
the  waves  ourselves,  and  never  to  feel  w^e've  got  our 
feet  firm  upon  it,  how  are  we  to  turn  and  have  our 
hands  free  to  help  the  rest  who  are  still  clinging  to 
the  wreck  or  fighting  through  the  breakers  ?" 

*'  And  what  did  you  spy  next.  Mother  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  said  nothing  to  Betty,"  Mother  replied.  "I 
w^ent  up  into  the  little  porch-closet,  KiUy,  and  knelt 
down,  and  prayed  God  to  teach  me." 

*'  And  then,  dear  Mother  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  then,  Kitty,  I  read  the  Bible,  and  I  thought 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN-.  «5«r 

a  long  time,  and  then  I  prayed  again.  And  at  last  I 
began  to  see  that  it  was  a  sin  not  to  believe  in  the 
love  God  has  for  us,  and.  if  we  believe  that  it  is  as 
much  a  necessity  as  a  duty,  to  be  glad." 

And  is  not  this  the  good  news  which  the  Method- 
ists are  bringing  to  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
all  over  the  world,  a  religion  which  promises  present 
life  and  joy  and  strength  to  all  who  believe  it,  and 
which  keeps  the  promise  ?  A  gospel  not  only  of  a 
past  creation^  finished  and  very  good,  but  of  a  present 
living  Creator^  creating  now?  Not  only  of  a  past 
perfect  redemption,  but  of  a  present  living  Re- 
deemer; not  only  of  a  past  miraculous  Pentecost, 
but  of  a  present  living  Holy  S^Dirit,  teaching  and 
comforting  here  and  now  ? 

"  Not  thankful  when  it  pleaseth  me, 
As  if  thy  blessings  had  spare  days, 
But  such  a  heart  whose  pulse  may  be 
Thy  praise." 

Tliis  morning  I  woke  with  those  words  of  good 
Mr.  Herbert's  in  my  heart ;  and  before  noon  I  felt 
my  need  of  them.  There  has  been  a  letter  from 
Hugh.  Jack's  afiiiirs  will  take  longer  settling  than 
we  thought.  And  meantime  Hugh  finds  plenty  of 
missionary  work  among  the  poor  blacks,  so  that  1 
must  try  not  to  wdsh  him  back  before  the  autumn,  to 
which  time  his  return  has  been  delayed  ;  and  not  to 
let  the  intervening  days  be  merely  a  kind  of  waste 
border-land  between  two  regions  of  life,  but  to  fill 
them  with  their  own  work,  which,  no  doubt,  if  I  ask 
God,  He  will  give  me. 


888  THE  DIARY  OF 

One  ]3iece  of  work  lias  come  already.  Toby  Tret- 
fry,  wlien  Mother  and  I  went  to  visit  Mm  to-day. 
asked  me,  as  a  great  favor,  if  I  would  let  liim  come 
to  our  house  for  an  hour  now  and  then,  and  help 
him  on  a  ittle  with  his  reading,  which,  with  all 
his  pains,  he  still  finds  to  be  a  very  slow  and  not 
very  certain  n  ode  of  gaining  information  or  edifica- 
tion. 

This  evening  he  came  for  the  first  time,  and  with 
some  hesitation  made  known  the  chief  reason  for  his 
coming.  He  has  contrived  to  collect  a  few  of  the 
idle  boys  of  the  parish  on  Sunday  afternoons  to 
teach  them.  And  the  attempt  to  teach  others  has 
made  him  feel  his  own  deficiencies. 

This  accounts  for  the  sounds  Father  and  I  heard 
issuing  from  Toby's  cottage  as  we  were  walking 
through  the  fields  last  Sunday. 

The  singing  was  hearty  enough,  at  all  events. 
From  time  to  time  the  voices  seemed  to  grow  uncer- 
tain and  scanty,  and  to  wander  up  and  down  without 
knowing  where  they  were  going.  But  after  such 
interval's  Toby's  voice  was  heard  again  like  a  cap- 
tain's collecting  his  scattered  forces  after  a  chase, 
and  the  whole  body  came  in  together  at  the  close 
with  a  shout,  which  Father  and  I  concluded  was  the 
chorus. 

I  suggested  to  Betty  that  a  little  elementary  in- 
struction in  singing,  such  as  I  could  give,  might  not 
be  useless  to  Toby,  if  he  is  to  be  choir-master  as  well 
as  schoolmaster. 

"More  than  that,  too,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  said  Betty, 
*'  Toby  is  appointed  local  preacher  in  our  district." 

Tliis  announcement  was  made  as  Betty  was  taking 
away  the  supper,  and  the  demand  on  Mother's  faith 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVTLYAK  ««« 

m  Methodist  arrangements  was  more  than  it  could 
stand. 

"  Toby  a  preacher  when  he  can  scarcely  read !" 
she  said. 

"  It's  my  belief,  JVIissis,"  said  Betty,  "  folks  can 
learn  to  read  a  deal  easier  than  they  can  learn  what 
the  Almighty's  learned  Toby's  poor  soul.  There 
be  things  seen  in  the  dejpths  Toby  's  been  brought 
through  never  written  in  any  lesson-book  I  ever 
see." 

"  But  whatever  the  profit  may  be  to  others,"  said 
Mother,  "it  must  certainly  be  dangerous  to  Toby 
himself  to  set  himself  up  to  teach  when  he  has  still 
BO  much  to  learn." 

"  Well,  Missis,"  said  Betty,  very  respectfully  but 
very  determinedly,  "  seems  to  me  if  folks  weren't  to 
teach  till  they've  no  more  to  learn,  they  may  wait 
till  doomsday,  and  beyond  that,  for  aught  that  I 
know  by.  And  more  than  that,  the  folks  that  do  set 
uj)  to  teach  because  they've  done  learning  be  mosf. 
times  mortal  dull  teachers.  Nothing  comes  so  home, 
it's  my  belief,  as  a  lesson  the  teacher  has  just  learned 
himself  from  the  Almighty,  whether  from  His  word 
or  His  hand.  However,  Toby's  not  set  himself  up 
to  preach,  any  way.  Folks  felt  the  better  for  what 
he'd  got  \o  say,  and  they  would  make  him  preach, 
and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

"  A  congregation  who  will  listen  is  a  good  begin- 
ning for  any  parson,  certainly,"  said  Father.  "  And 
I  suppose  Toby's  salary  is  not  very  high." 

"  The  pay  of  them  local  preachers,"  replied  Betty 

drily,  "  is  most  times  the  wrong  way  as  far  as  this 

world  goes.     Toby  often  walks  ten  or  twenty  miles 

to  his  preaching,  and  when  it  rains  he's  got   to 

33* 


890  THE  DIARY  OF 

j)reacli  in  liis  wet  clothes,  and  sit  in  tliem  till  tlicy'ro 
dry;  so  that  his  pay  is  like  to  be  weary  bones 
now  and  rheumatics  in  old  age.  But  he's  content 
enough." 

But  when  afterwards  I  questioned  Toby  about  his 
self-denying  labors,  he  colored  and  stammered,  very 
little  like  a  man  accustomed  to  public  speaking,  and 
at  last  he  said, — 

*'  They've  only  taken  me  on  trial  for  a  year.  And 
as  to  the  pay,  the  times  I  have  alone  on  my  walks, 
thinking  over  the  Lord  and  His  goodness,  and  all  I've 
got  to  tell  them,  is  jDay  enough  for  a  prince,  let  alone 
the  joy  of  seeing  the  poor  souls  comforted  and 
cheered  up  a  bit,  while  I  talk  to  them,  and  the  hope 
of  meeting  them  all  and  thanking  the  Lord  together 
by-and-by." 

These  last  weeks  have  been  full  of  events.  Uncle 
Beauchamp  died  rather  suddenly  two  months  since. 
The  shock  of  his  death  brought  on  a  slight  attack  of 
paralysis  on  Aunt  Beauchamp,  which  has  disabled 
her  from  entering  any  more  into  society. 

Cousin  Evelyn  is  left  in  possession  of  a  large  for- 
tune, bequeathed  for  her  sole  use,  on  her  father's 
death,  by  the  will  of  her  paternal  grandmother.  She 
has  announced  her  intention  of  paying  us  a  visit. 
Aunt  Beauchamp  keeps  recurring,  like  a  sick  child, 
to  a  promise  she  says  Mother  made  her  of  coming  to 
nurse  her  if  ever  she  should  need  it.  And  since  it  is  . 
impossible  for  Mother  to  leave  home,  the  doctors 
(Evelyn  writes),  think  that  difficult  as  the  journey  is, 
the  most  probable  chance  of  recovery  is  for  her 
mother  to  come  for  a  tMue  to  us,  if  we  can  receive 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  891 

her.  Mo  tiler's  tender  and  quiet  nursing  may  restore 
her  shattered  nerves,  or,  at  least,  soothe  them.  Betty's 
anticipations  of  tliis  visit  are  not  bright.  A  fine 
London  man  and  maid,  and  an  old  madam,  who  (she 
has  heard)  paints  her  face  (which  no  one  ever  did  in 
the  Bible  except  Jezebel),  are  very  serious  apprehen, 
sions  to  Betty. 

Indeed,  she  said  to-day,  it  was  quite  enough,  in  her 
opinion,  to  account  for  all  the  evil  signs  and  tokens ; 
so  that,  she  admits,  there  is  some  comfort  even  in 
such  an  upset  as  this,  for  such  sights  and  sounds 
might  have  boded  worse. 

Betty's  spirits  are  much  relieved,  now  that  our  vis- 
itors have  come,  by  discovering  that  the  "  London 
man"  turns  out  to  be  a  Methodist  collier  lad,  pro- 
moted by  Evelyn  to  the  dignity  of  groom  ;  that  my 
aunt's  woman,  Mrs.  Sims,  is  entirely  engrossed  v/ith 
her  mistress ;  that  my  poor  aunt  herself  has  relin- 
quished the  rouge ;  and  that  in  a  very  short  time  the 
whole  party  are  to  emigrate  from  our  house  to  the 
parsonage. 

For  Evelyn  has  bought  the  next  presentation  of  the 
living  for  Hugh,  for  which,  she  says,  we  owe  her  no 
thanks,  as  she  intends  ruthlessly  to  rob  us  of  the  par- 
sonage, and  to  convert  it,  with  the  exception  of  such 
rooms  as  she  and  her  mother  want,  into  an  orphan- 
house  for  some  destitute  little  girls  she  has  discovered 
in  London,  for  whom  she  believes  the  great  hope  is  to 
take  them  quite  out  of  reach  of  their  bad  relations,^ 
into  such  a  new  world  as  this  will  be  to  them. 

We,  she  says,  are  to  struggle  on  as  we  can  in  the 
old  house.     She  insists,  however,  on  repaiiing  or  re- 


802  THE  DIARY  OF 

building  the  fallen  side  of  the  old  court,  in  which  aro 
situated  the  rooms  formerly  appropriated  to  us.  The 
masons  and  carpenters  are  at  work  already.  There 
is  not  much  to  be  done.  The  old  walls  are  as  firm  as 
when  they  were  built,  and  the  stone  muUions  only  need 
to  be  repaired  here  and  there.  The  chief  renoyation 
is  the  replacing  of  the  broken  floors  and  ceilings,  the 
glazing  of  the  old  windows,  involving  the  dethrone- 
ment of  Betty's  hens,  who  from  time  immemorial 
have  made  their  roost  in  the  deserted  old  chambers. 
Already,  under  Evelyn's  eager  hastening,  the  work  is 
advancing.  And  when  Hugh  comes  back  he  will  feel 
as  if  an  enchanter's  wand  had  been  waved  over  the 
old  place,  so  delightfully  like  and  yet  unlike  is  it  to 
its  old  self. 

Evelyn  is  altogether  graver  and  gentler  and  more 
peaceable  than  I  ever  saw  her.  Her  strong  will 
seems  to  find  its  true  element  in  action,  and  no  more 
drives  her  restlessly  against  other  people's  wills, 
merely  by  way  of  exercise.  At  the  same  time  she 
seems  to  me  more  of  a  queen  than  ever ;  and  I  de- 
light to  watch  how  instinctively  every  one  yields  to 
her  control — every  one  except  poor  Aunt  Beauchamp : 
and  in  her  sick-chamber  T  love  to  watch  Evelyn  even 
better  than  anywhere  else.  The  paralytic  stroke,  be- 
reavement, and  change  of  circumstances,  have  brought 
a  vague  irritation  and  sense  of  helpless  opposition 
into  my  poor  aunt's  brain,  very  sad  to  see ;  and  this 
chiefly  vents  itself  on  Evelyn.  She  seems  to  feel  as 
if  something,  she  knows  not  what,  were  always  pre- 
venting her  doing  what  she  wishes ;  and  when  Eve- 
lyn appear.^,  this  tyrannical  something  seems  to  rep- 
resent itself  to  her  as  poor  Evelyn's  will.     At  times 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAN.  .  893 

slie  blames  and  reproaches  Evelyn  as  if  slie  were  a 
willful  child.  At  other  times  she  weeps,  and  wrings 
her  hands,  and  entreats,  as  if  she  herself  were  the 
child  and  Evelyn  the  harsh  guardian,  to  be  allowed 
to  do  some  impossible  thing  or  other.  And  Eve- 
lyn, so  strong  and  commanding  elsewhere,  by  that 
sick-bed  is  tender  and  yielding,  and  patient  with 
every  sick  fancy.  Now  and  then,  after  a  paroxysm 
of  fretting  and  complaining,  she  is  rewarded  by  a 
few  tender  words  of  love  and  thanks,  as  a  gleam  of 
clearer  light  breaks  over  the  poor  troubled  brain. 
And  at  such  times  it  is  always  as  to  a  little  child 
Aunt  Beauchamp  speaks  to  her,  calling  her  old  ten- 
der nursery  names,  long  disused,  at  which  poor  Eve- 
lyn's eyes  fill  with  tears. 

The  doctors  say  this  form  of  the  disease  will  prob- 
ably pass ;  and  already  Mother's  presence,  and  firm, 
kind  nursing  seems  to  have  exercised  a  soothing  in- 
fluence. 

The  time  for  Hugh's  arrival  is  come.  Any  day 
may  bring  us  tidings  of  his  ship.  Evelyn  is  hasten- 
ing the  preparation  of  the  parsonage,  for  the  recep- 
tion of  her  mother  and  the  orphans.  Two  rooms 
looking  on  the  garden  she  has  fitted  up  with  every 
luxury  her  mother  is  accustomed  to,  China  vases  and 
images  on  golden  brackets,  caskets  of  aromatic  woods, 
soft  carpets  and  leopard's  skins,  mirrors  with  little 
China  Cupids  peeping  round  at  their  own  reflections 
from  the  garlanded  frame :  everything  to  make  poor 
Aunt  Beauchamp  feel  as  much  at  home  as  if  her  win- 
dows looked  on  Great  Ormond  Street,  instead  of  over 
a  patch  of  garden  sheltered  with  difliculty  from  the 
storms  of  the  Atlantic. 


894  •  THE  DIARY  OF 

The  rest  of  the  house  is  a  straogj  contrast.  In 
Evelyn's  own  rooms  the  only  luxuries  are  books  and 
flowers,  and  a  view,  through  an  opening  in  the  valley, 
of  the  sea.  The  furniture  is  nearly  as  simple  as  that 
of  the  dormitories  and  the  school-room  for  the  or 
phans,  to  which  the  remaining  portion  of  the  house 
is  devoted.  Every  one  of  the  little  white  beds  in 
these  dormitories  has  its  own  chest  of  drawers,  which 
is  also  the  toilette  table  and  its  washing  stand.  These 
are  all  alike.  Evelyn  means  to  add  by  degrees  little 
gifts  of  pictures  and  books,  as  she  learns  the  tastes  of 
the  little  inmates.  She  wishes  to  make  a  liome^  as  far 
as  possible,  for  the  children ;  not,  she  says,  by  the 
assumption  of  names  of  relationship  which  are  untrue, 
and  but  by  getting  to  know  each  child  individually, 
by  giving  each  some  little  peculiar  possessions,  so  as 
to  make  each  feel  not  a  little  unit  in  a  sum,  or  a  thing 
in  a  magazine,  but  a  little  person  in  a  family.  Her 
plan  is  to  give  each  of  them,  perhaps,  a  hen,  or  a 
jQ*uit-tree,  that  they  may  learn  early  the  connection 
between  taking  care  and  Jiaving^  and  between  self-de- 
nial and  giving.  And  whenever  this  is  possible,  she 
intends  to  encourage  their  cherishing  little  memorials 
of  the  past,  that  they  may  feel  they  are  not  taken 
into  the  orphan  house  to  be  taken  out  of  the  order 
of  God's  providence,  but  only  to  be  removed  from 
some  of  the  world's  dangers  and  Satan's  tempta- 
tions. 

'*  That  is  my  blank  sheet,  Kitty,"  she  said  to  me 
one  day.  "  It  will  be  strange,  in  after  years,  to  see 
how  what  is  written  on  it  corresponds  with  my  plans. 
For,  though  the  scheme  is  in  my  hands,  the  history, 
you  know,  is  not." 

"  Cousin  Kitty,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  we  were 


3£RS.   KITTY  TREVYLYAIT.  895 

walking  home  across  a  reach  of  sandy  shore,  "  I  know 
Mr.  Wesley  thinks  riches  the  meanest  of  God's  gifts, 
but  I  do  think  they  are  a  grand  gift  when  one  is 
young  and  free.  So  few  possess  riches  until  their 
wants  and  habits  have  grown  uj)  to  them,  so  that 
after  all  they  are  only  enough  to  supply  their  wants, 
— that  is  not  riches  to  them  at  all.  Now,  with  me,  it 
is  different.  My  tastes  are  as  simple  as  possible.  I 
have  no  pleasure  in  splendor  and  no  need  for  luxu- 
ries. God  has  given  me  riches  in  my  youth  and 
health;  and,  moreover,"  she  continued  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "  He  has  given  me  to  see  something  of  i\\Q 
great  poverty  and  misery  there  are  in  the  world. 
And  also  He  has  brought  me  at  the  threshold  of  my 
life  face  to  face  with  Death.  And  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  I  should  like  so  much,  I  mean  really 
like  or  enjoy  so  much,"  she  repeated  emphatically, 
"  as,  unentangled  with  any  personal  interests  or  cares, 
to  give  myself  up,  that  is,  all  I  have  and  am,  to  help- 
ing, and  cheering,  and  serving  the  sorrowful  and 
neglected  and  destitute  peoj)le  around  me,  all  my 
life  long,  leading  them  to  feel  all  the  time  that 
the  love  and  help  they  found  in  me  was  only  a 
little  trickling  from  the  great  love  and  power  of 
God." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  looking  far  out  over  the  sea 
to  the  west,  where  the  sky  was  glowing  with  sunset. 
But  the  glow  and  the  life  in  her  eyes  and  on  her 
beaming  face,  seemed  to  make  the  glow  on  the  sky 
lifeless  in  comparison.  It  came,  I  I'elt,  from  a  Sun,^ 
*'  unseen  am!  eternal,"  and  its  light  was  not  that  of 
Bunset  but  of  sunrise. 

While  Evelyn  and  I  stood  together  by  the  sea-side 


396  THE  DIARY  OF 

that  evening,  I  noticed,  at  one  point,  a  bank  of 
clouds  just  rising  slowly  above  the  horizon. 

As  we  walked  home,  the  wind  rose  in  those  strange, 
fitful  gusts  which  Father  says  are  like  flying  skirmish- 
ing parties  sent  out  to  clear  the  way  before  the  mail* 
forces  of  a  storm. 

As  the  wind  rose  all  through  that  evening,  I  bcgau 
to  feel  terribly  anxious ;  and  I  knew  they  all  felt  as 
I  did,  because  every  one  made  such  lively  efforts  not 
to  let  the  conversation  flag.  They  talked  about 
Evelyn's  alterations  at  the  parsonage,  about  the  reno- 
vations in  our  old  house,  about  Father's  old  military 
days — about  every  one  except  Hugh,  about  every- 
thing except  the  tempestuous  wind  which  had  now 
ceased  to  be  gusty  and  kej^t  surging  up  the  valley 
in  great  deafening  waves,  as  regular  and  almost  as 
strong  as  the  billows  it  had  been  urging  on  in  its 
course,  and  whose  salt  spray  it  kept  dashing  against 
the  windows,  mingled  with  great  plashes  of  rain. 

Evelyn  wished  me  good-night  in  an  easy,  careless 
tone,  as  if  it  were  quite  an  ordinary  night,  and  no 
one  we  cared  about  were  on  the  sea ;  and  Mother 
made  no  attempt  to  come  to  my  chamber  or  to  invite 
me  to  hers,  as  she  does  in  any  common  anxiety. 
Only  Father's  voice  betrayed  his  feelings  by  its  ner- 
vous abruptness,  as  he  came  back  from  an  explora- 
tion of  the  weather,  and  said,  as  we  separated  for  tl;  e 
niglit,— 

"  This  weather  is  nothing  sudden.  It  cannot  have 
taken  any  good  seaman  by  surprise.  It  has  been 
brewing  since  yesterday  evening ;  and  no  doubt  any 
one  wlio  knows  this  coast  is  either  far  enough  from  It 
0^  safe  in  port." 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVTLYAN,  397 

But  long  afterwards,  I  heard  Mother's  closet  door 
close,  and  low  voices  conclude  what  I  felt  had  been 
an  earnest  parley ;  and,  with  every  sense  quick  as  it 
was  that  night,  I  heard  Evelyn's  soft  step  glide 
stealthily  past  my  chamber  to  her  own. 

Only  Betty  ventured  to  speak  to  me.  She  knocked 
at  my  door,  and  came  into  my  chamber  from  her 
own,  while  I  was  still  standing  at  the  window,  listen- 
ing to  the  storm. 

"  Mrs.  Kitty,  my  dear  1"  she  said  in  her  old  tone 
of  authority,  which  carried  me  back  to  my  childhood, 
and  made  me  feel  submissive  at  once.  "  Mrs.  Kitty, 
my  dear  lamb,  you  mustn't  stand  staring  and  heark- 
ening like  that."  And  she  began  quietly  to  unfasten 
my  dress,  as  when  I  was  a  little  child.  "There's 
aothing  folks  can't  see  and  hear  if  they  hearken  on 
lights  like  this,  my  dear,"  she  continued.  "  I've 
heard  the  wind  creusle,  and  moan,  and  scream  in 
that  way ;  I  would  have  sworn  it  was  folks  in  mortal 
trouble ;  and  in  the  morning  when  I  came  to  ask, 
nothing  had  happened  out  of  the  way.  So  take 
heart,  my  dear,  take  heart  I" 

How  thankful  I  felt  to  Betty  for  the  want  of  tact 
which  made  her  full  heart  come  blundering  out 
with  all  its  sympathy,  so  that  I  could  just  lay  my 
head  on  her  shoulder  and  cry  like  a  child,  and  be 
comforted. 

"  I'm  not  out  of  heart,  Betty,"  I  sobbed ;  "  why 
should  I  be  ?  His  ship  may  not  have  left  America 
yet,  you  know ;  it  may  be  in  port  quite  safe,  close  at 
hand,  close  at  hand  I" 

"  It  may,  my  dear,  it  may,"  she  said ;  "  but  it  isa't 
maybes  that'll  comfort  you,  my  lamb.  You  must 
trust  the  Lord." 

34 


OW  TFTE  DIARY  OF 

"  I  do,"  I  said.  "  Indeed  I  do.  But  He  promises 
us  no  security  from  danger ;  none  from  any  danger, 
does  He  V 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Kitty,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  say  I  think 
He  do.  But  He  promises  to  care  for  us,  and  He  tells 
us  to  trust,  and  we  must,  my  dear,  we  must  I  The 
Lord  is  sure  not  to  hurt  us  more  than  He  can  help. 
His  promises  are  great,  my  dear,  but  the  Lord  him- 
self is  better  than  all  His  promises.  He  always 
means  more  than  He  says  ;  more  and  never  less ;  be- 
cause He  is  better  than  words  can  say.  So  Mrs. 
Kitty,  my  dear,"  she  concluded,  "111  leave  you  alone 
with  Him.  You'll  find  it  better.  For  all  the  great- 
est fights,  it's  mj'^  belief,  have  got  to  be  fought  out 
alone  with  the  Almighty.  You'll  find  when  you 
kneel  down  and  give  yourself  up,  heart  and  soul  to 
Him,  that  you  don't  want  any  more  promises  than 
he  gives.  For  all  the  words  in  the  world  end  some- 
where, and  have  something  they  cannot  reach.  But 
the  love  of  the  Lord  has  no  end,  and  it  flows  down 
to  the  bottom  of  every  trouble." 

And  when  Betty  had  gone,  I  did  kneel  down,  and 
I  proved  what  she  said  to  be  true.  I  proved  that  all 
possi1)le  promises  are  included  and  absorbed  by  that 
one,  "  I  will  never  leave  thee ;"  that  all  hopes  of 
deliverance  are  weak  to  sustain,  compared  with  sim- 
ple trust  in  the  Deliverer. 

I  would  not  blot  out  the  lessons  of  that  night  for 
twice  its  pain.  For,  at  last,  I  was  able  to  put  out 
the  light  and  lie  down  in  the  darkness,  without 
shuddering,  alone  with  the  storm;  although  the  rush 
of  the  wind  up  the  valley,  as  gust  after  gust  broke 
against  the  house,  made  the  branches  of  the  old 
elms  strain  and  groan  like  a  shix^'s  timbers,  and  the 


Pr. 


MRS.  KITTY  TREYYLYAN.  899 

windows  rattle,  and  tlie  old  house  tremble  to  its 
foundations.  For  the  tone  of  an  enemy's  voice  had 
passed  from  the  tempest.  I  could  take  refuge  with 
the  Arm  that  wielded  it,  for  me  and  mine.  And 
this  is  something  to  prove  ;  for  it  would,  doubtless, 
have  been  easier  to  have  been  at  sea  by  Hugh's  side, 
than  in  that  quiet  chamber ;  far  easier  to  have  been 
tossing  helplessly,  as  I  thought  he  might  be,  from 
the  crest  of  one  wave  to  the  trough  of  another,  feel- 
ing the  ship  stagger  at  every  blow  of  the  waves,  than 
to  lie  there,  safe  and  sheltered,  listening  to  the  winds 
as  they  surged  up  the  valley  after  lashing  the  sea , 
into  fury. 

In  the  morning  Betty  came  to  me,  as  I  was  dress- 
ing, her  face  white  and  her  eyes  large  v/ith  fear. 
Toby,  she  said,  had  just  come  down  from  the  cliffs, 
and  had  said  there  was  a  dismasted  ship  of  British 
build,  out  of  her  course  and  quite  unmanageable, 
making  as  fast  as  she  could  the  fatal  rocks  at  the 
entrance  of  his  little  bay.  He  was  going  back  to  his 
cottage,  with  two  or  three  of  his  class,  to  pray  for 
the  crew  ;  and  then  they  were  to  keep  watch  on  the 
points  of  the  coast,  from  which  help  was  most  prac- 
ticable, ready  to  throve  ropes,  or  to  render  any 
possible  assistance. 

None  of  us  could  rest  in  the  house  with  such  a 
catastrophe  at  hand.  Father  and  Roger  went  up  on 
the  cliff,  to  join  the  old  seamen  and  the  fishermen 
already  ther^.  Evelyn  and  I  tried  to  accompany 
them,  but  we  could  stand  before  the  wind ;  and  it 
was  arranged  that  we,  with  Mother  and  Betty,  should 
remain  in  Toby's  cottage,  keeping  up  the  fire,  taking 
thither  blankets  and  warm  wraps  and  a)!  kinds  of 


400  TEE  DIARY  OF 

restoratives,  in  case  any  of  tlie  ship-wrecked  crew 
could  be  rescued.  ^ 

But  that  moment  on  the  cliflfs  had  been  enough  to 
imprint  the  terrible  sight  on  our  hearts  for  ever. 

Dismasted,  helpless,  full,  wc  knew,  of  our  country- 
men driven  on  our  own  shores,  the  shore  they  had 
been  eagerly  looking  for  so  long,  to  perish ! 

Not  one  of  us  spoke  a  word  as  we  busied  our- 
selves in  making  every  possible  preparation,  or  in 
the  still  more  terrible  moments  of  inaction  which 
followed,  when  every  possible  preparation  had  been 
made. 

Then  Toby  came  for  an  instant  to  the  door  and 
shouted : 

"  There  is  hope  I  there  is  hope  I  Don't  give  over 
praying  I  She  is  jammed  in  between  two  rocks. 
If  she  can  hold  together  till  the  ebb,  there  is  hope  I 

A  sob  of  relief  broke  from  us  all ;  and  we  knelt 
down  together.    But  no  one  would  utter  a  word. 

Soon  Toby  came  again. 

"  They  are  maldng  signals !"  he  said.  "  We  have 
made  signals  to  them  to  wait.  But  either  they  don't 
make  us  out,  or  she  won't  hold  together.  One  of 
them  is  tying  a  rope  round  him  to  throw  himself  into 
the  sea.  We  can  see  him  from  the  beach.  AVe  could 
make  him  hear  if  it  wasn't  for  the  roar  of  the  wind 
and  the  sea." 

Then  we  could  remain  in  the  cottage  no  longer. 
Evelyn  and  I  went  back  mth  Toby  to  the  point  on 
the  beach  nearest  the  wreck. 

"  He  hopes  to  reach  us,  and  get  the  rest  in  by  the 
rope,"  said  Toby.  "  But  he'll  never  do  it,  the  sea  is 
too  wild." 

And  then  in  a  low  tone, — 


MRS.  KITTY  TREVYLYAK.  401 

"  He  must  know  the  coast.  He  is  climbing  tlie 
slippery  rock  at  the  only  point  it  can  be  climbed, 
where  Master  Hugh  and  I  used  to  hunt  for  gulls' 
nests." 

He  stopped.    His  eye  met  mine. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Eltty,  take  heart,  take  heart !"  he  said. 
"  Master  Hugh  knows  what  he's  about.  And  the 
Lord  '11  never  let  him  be  lost." 

The  form  we  were  watching  plunged  from  the  rock 
and  disappeared  beneath  the  waves.  There  was  a 
shout  among  the  fishermen.  Again  another ;  he  had 
re-appeared  above  the  breakers.  Then  again  a  terri- 
ble breathless  silence. 

What  happened  next  I  did  not  see.  A  mist  came 
before  my  eyes,  blotting  out  sound  and  sight. 

And  the  next  thing  of  which  I  was  conscious  was 
waking  up  in  Toby's  cottage  with  my  head  on 
Mother's  bosom,  and  seeing  some  one  stretched  on 
Toby's  little  bed  beside  the  fire,  but  not  too  close, 
while  Toby  and  Betty,  on  each  side,  were  chafing  the 
hands  and  feet,  and  the  face  was  motionless  and  pale 
as  death. 

But  slowly,  almost  before  I  was  fully  conscious,  his 
breast  heaved  slightly ;  the  eyes  feebly  opened  and 
met  mine.  And  the  next  instance  I  was  kneeling 
beside  Hugh. 

They  had  been  chafing  and  rubbing,  and  trying 
every  means  of  restoration  for  an  hour ;  and  it  was 
only  just  before  I  recovered  consciousness,  that  the 
first  faint  gasp,  the  first  pale  flush  of  color  gave  any 
sign  of  returning  life. 

But  as  I  knelt  there  beside  him,  his  eyes  opened 
again  and  rested  with  such  rest  on  mine,  and  ho 
rather  breathed  than  said,  so  faint  was  his  voice, — 


402  THE  DIARY  OF 

**  Are  the  rest  saved  V 

And  Toby  answered, — 

"They're  all  saved,  all.  The  Lord  bless  you, 
Master  Hugh.  The  waves  which  dashed  you,  a 
drowned  man,  as  we  thought,  on  the  beach,  did  not 
break  the  rope  which  bound  you  to  the  WTeck. 
Three  of  the  boldest  clung  to  that  and  were  saved  at 
once,  and  all  the  rest  when  the  tide  went  out." 

Then  Hugh  was  satisfied,  and  asked  no  more  ques- 
tions, but  kej^t  firm  hold  of  my  hand  and  closed  his 
eyes.  His  lips  moved,  tears  pressed  slowly  out  from 
under  his  closed  eyelids,  and  an  exj^ression  of  un- 
utterable peace  settled  on  his  face. 

Before  night  we  were  all  kneeling  there,  beside 
him,  the  shipwrecked  crew  around  the  door,  while 
in  feeble,  but  distinct  tones,  he  was  thanking  God 
whose  mercies  are  "  new  every  morning,"  whose 
"  mercy  endureth  for  ever." 

That  is  the  way  in  which  God  has  answered  a 
thousand  prayers  at  once. 

Life  was  given  back  to  the  perishing  by  Toby's 
fireside,  and  through  his  hands.  The  wrecker's 
house  of  death  became  a  threshold  of  life.  The  den 
of  thieves  became  a  house  of  prayer. 

And  Hugh  is  given  back  to  me.  That  was  the  first 
service  in  which  Hugh  led  the  prayers  and  praises  of 
his  flock.  A  "prosperous  journey"  had  indeed  been 
given  him  (such  as  was  given  to  St.  Paul  of  old), 
beyond  all  we  could  have  dared  to  ask. 

He  had  reached  his  native  shores  in  a  nobler  tri- 
umph than  if  he  had  been  convoyed  by  all  the 
King's  fleet,  and  greeted  ])y  a  royal  salute  ;  cast  on 
the  beach  a  shipwrecked  man,  all  but  dying  for 
those  ho  had  plunged  into  the  waves  to  rescue. 


JinS.   KITTY  TliEVYLYAX.  403 

Tlie  Aniens  of  liis  first  thanksgiving  service  had 
been  sobbed  from  the  lii)s  of  those  whose  lives  he 
had  risked  his  own  save. 

We  accept  it  as  a  token. 

AYlien  "  the  stonn  of  life  is  past ;"  when  we  wake 
to  onr  first  thank sgiving-ser\'ice  on  the  other  shore, 
vnll  there  (oh,  will  there  not  ?)  be  such  a  company 
of  rescued  men  and  women  around  us  then  ?  rescued 
from  wTeck  more  fatal,  pouring  out  their  praises, 
not,  indeed,  to  us,  but  to  Him  who  loved  us  all  and 
redeemed  us  all  to  God  by  His  blood ;  not  at  the 
risk  of  His  life  only,  but,  by  giving  it  up,  redeemed 
us  not  from  hell  to  heaven  only,  but  from  sin  to  God. 

For  the  storms  never  cease  on  earth.  And  even 
when  Mr.  Whitetield,  and  the  AYesleys,  and  John 
Nelson,  and  Silas  Jold,  have  passed  from  this  world, 
with  all  the  noble  men  and  women  who  work  with 
them,  rescuing  wrecked  souls  from  destruction,  and 
chafing  fainting  hearts  into  life,  Hugh  says  the 
storms  will  still  continue,  and  the  wrecks.  For  till 
heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away,  the  work  of 
rescuing  the  lost  "will  have  to  begin  again,  generation 
by  generation,  and  day  by  day. 

But  there  is  no  fear,  Hugh  is  sure,  but  that  with 
the  stomis  God  will  send  the  deliverers ;  the  nev/ 
workmen  for  the  old  work  of  rescue  from  the  old 
perils,  wakening  the  new  song  of  redemption,  fresh 
as  the  rlrst,  in  every  heart  that  leams  it  fresh  from 
heavr-j 


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